


From East to West

by RhaenaTargaryen28



Series: First of his Name Series [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Essos, F/M, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon is not called Aegon, Lyanna Lives, R Plus L Equals J
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-06-26 00:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19756864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhaenaTargaryen28/pseuds/RhaenaTargaryen28
Summary: Lyanna flees with the Kingsguard across the Narrow Sea to raise her son. AU-Story.





	1. Prologue - The First of his Name

The heat was merciless and made the sweat roll down her neck like the current of a river.

It felt as if the world was smoking, the dry landscape and valley around the small watchtower blurred by the sandstorm washing over these lands.

Today it had been so bad, that they had to close all the windows to keep out the sand, but by midday the storm had eased and the sunlight, no matter how sparse, had returned.

Lyanna had been fascinated by the red sand, but Ser Arthur had been worried, watching over her like a little child.

She understood why. Rhaegar’s departure had upset him greatly. He had wanted to fight at his side, but his Prince had commanded him to protect his wife and unborn son.

Wife. A year ago she was supposed to become Robert Baratheon’s wife, but she had thrown that all away when she had run away with her beloved Rhaegar.

Now she was no longer Lyanna Stark. She was a Targaryen. The marriage cloak and the bloodstain on Ser Oswell’s white cloak was evidence of the vows they had exchanged on the Island of Faces.

Thinking of Rhaegar made her eyes burn, but perhaps that was just the dust.

“My Lady,” Ser Arthur’s called out to her. “Please close the window.”

Lyanna sighed and closed the window, before climbing up to her chamber. Her belly was swollen and the babe kept her day and night over the chamber pot.

Rhaegar believed it was a girl, but Lyanna knew it was a boy. Old Nan had told her once that heavy kickers are usually boys and her old nursemaid would know best. She had brought a hundred babes into this world.

“Will you ever be still,” she told her babe and touched the swell of her stomach. Again, the babe kicked, a sharp pain spreading over her side.

Gritting her teeth, she climbed up the last pair of steps and stumbled into the chamber where she found Arthur.

He was seated on a chair and was oiling his beautiful blade. Dawn.

“Arthur!” she gasped and knelt down next to the wall. “Arthur!”

“Gods be good!” Arthur exclaimed and was quick at her side. “What is going on?”

Lyanna gritted her teeth as another jolt of pain coursed through her body.

She had believed that it was only a result of her babe’s kicking, but when she felt the wetness seeping through her skirt she knew what was amiss.

“Arthur,” she gasped and searched his violet gaze. “I think the babe is coming!”

She clenched her teeth in defiance as Arthur led her to the bed and stormed out of the room and all the way down the steps, where Cella and Wylla had their chambers. Cella was a midwife and Wylla a nursemaid for her babe.

Not long after, Cella and Wylla came storming into the room while Arthur remained standing at the entrance to her chamber.

“I heard it is time,” Cella said soothingly and advised Wylla to help Lyanna leave the bed so they were able to clean the sheets. Lyanna continued to squirm in pain as the two women worked silently.

Once they had finished their task, Cella turned to Ser Arthur.

“A birthing chamber is no place for a man.”

Ser Arthur gave Lyanna a conflicted look, but Wylla pushed him out of the room and closed the door behind him.

A few heartbeats, later Lyanna found herself seated in her bed, Cella’s head between her spread thighs. Lyanna hadn’t been able to complain before the woman had pulled off her smallclothes.

Wylla had all the while stirred the fire in the brazier to heat the water.

“This might take a while,” Cella remarked after she had lifted her head.

Lyanna gave her a fearful look.

“How long?”

The midwife gave her an assuring smile. “Sometimes, a birth can last an hour or days. Relax now. When the pain comes back I want you to push.”

Lyanna tried to do as she was told. She closed her eyes and imagined she was back at the Island of Faces where she and Rhaegar had wed, but her happy memory was destroyed by another sting of pain.

“Now push!” Cella instructed calmly and Lyanna tried her best to comply.

Yet Lyanna could only close her eyes and scream. The pain was overwhelming.

Once the pain had subsided, she opened her tear-steaked eyes and found Cella smiling down at her.

“Well done. Now relax and breathe.”

Lyanna nodded her head and allowed herself to fall back unto her soft pillows.

This repeated itself a good dozen of times, the time period between each pain growing shorter.

She heard the raging storm outside and then everything turned dark.

Then, she was screaming at the top of her lungs and her fingers digging deep into the bedding.

It was pain unlike anything she had ever experienced, a stream of tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Now push! Just one more time!” Cella instructed calmly. “We are almost there!”

Lyanna gritted her teeth again and nodded her head as the promised wave of pain washed over her.

She pushed once more and screamed. This time, she felt a sudden sensation, something that gave away and then the lusty cry of a babe.

A beautiful sound, Lyanna thought as she fell back into her pillows, her body exhausted and aching.

“It’s a boy!” the Cella announced and held up the babe in front of her. “A healthy boy!”

Lyanna smiled and watched as Wylla wrapped him in swaddling clothes, before finally placing him in her arms.

“You should try to feed him,” Wylla encouraged her and placed a wet cloth on her brow. “It will help with the afterbirth.”

Lyanna felt helpless with the squirming bundle in her arms, but Wylla was quick and showed her how to feed him.

Seeing this, she felt more confident and touched the babe’s head. It was covered with a shock of brown hair like her own, but she also longed to see his eyes.

Sadly, her babe kept them shut as he continued sucking greedily.

“He is quite hungry,” Lyanna couldn’t help but to remark. It was a strange sensation, but not unpleasant. “Is that good?”

“Very good,” Wylla told her while Cella was still lingering between her legs. “Let him eat.”

Lyanna did that, watching as her babe sucked. She wished Rhaegar was here, but he was far away at the Trident, fighting Robert Baratheon.

The thought made her incredibly sad. A war was not what she had desired. All she had wanted was her freedom to choose.

And now her father and brother were dead. It was her burden to bear, so much she knew, but when she laid eyes on her babe , she felt a glimmer of hope that not all suffering had been in vain.

“Protect Rhaegar,” she sent a prayer to the Old Gods. “But do not let any harm come to Benjen and Ned.”

Yet the gods decided differently.

Four days later, two riders appeared at the horizon while Lyanna was standing near the window, cradling her babe.

Arthur must have seen them too, for he stepped outside to greet them, his white cloak fluttering behind him like the plumage of a bird. As always, his hand was resting on his blade, but he relaxed immediately when he saw their white cloaks.

Lyanna moved slowly down the steps and met them in the solar below, where Cella and Wylla were breaking their fast.

Lyanna recognized Ser Oswell at once, though his face was deeply flushed from the heat. The other man was unknown to her. He was tall and his dark hair was steaked with grey.

Ser Arthur smiled wryly when he introduced the man.

“This is Ser Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”

Lyanna nodded her head in understanding.

“Did Rhaegar send you to get me?”

“We came to take you away,” Ser Gerold replied grimly, his dark eyes darting to the babe in her arms. “Across the Narrow Sea.”

Trembling, she handed the babe into Wylla’s arms and wheeled around, storming back into her chambers.

By the time, she fell upon the bed tears were streaming down her face and she had to stifle her sobs in the bedding.

It was a sudden knock at the door that woke her from her stupor. Rubbing her eyes she sat up and opened the door, allowing Ser Arthur entrance.

He looked pale like a sheet, his violet eyes wet with tears.

“I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped and pushed him aside. Then, she pushed up her skirt and climbed down the steps. She couldn’t bear to hear it. She needed to function.

She found the rest of the Kingsguard seated around the table, their eyes fixed on her babe that was being fed by Wylla.

Lyanna stopped when Ser Gerold’s piercing gaze met hers.

“Are you feeling better, your Grace?”

“Your Grace,” Lyanna repeated with a gasp. She felt suddenly very sick. “Why are you addressing me in such a manner?”

“Prince Rhaegar’s informed us about the existence of your babe. He made us swear to protect him.”

“What of Princess Elia and her children,” she countered. “if Rhaegar is dead then Prince Aegon is next in line...,” she continued, but fell silent when Ser Oswell averted his gaze.

“They were all murdered by Tywin Lannister’s dogs. And the King…he was slain by Ser Jaime Lannister.”

“Tywin’s golden boy did this?” Ser Arthur asked in utter disbelief. He clenched his teeth and brushed his hand over the hilt of his sword. “I will cut him apart limps and bones when I get my hands on him!”

“We don’t have time for petty revenge, Ser Arthur,” Gerold Hightower grumbled and shifted his attention to the babe in Wylla’s hands. “Prince Rhaegar is dead. Prince Aegon is dead. That makes this babe our rightful King.”

Gerold Hightower was the first one to drop to his knees. The others followed suit and together they gave their vows to the babe in Wylla’s arms.

Lyanna couldn’t say a single word. She trembled and emptied her fast on the floor.

Suddenly, the world around her went black.

That night she dreamed of Rhaegar, his chest slashed by Robert’s warhammer and rubies spilling into the rushing waters of the River Trident.

Yet he didn’t die. He transformed into a dragon, its eyes of molten gold staring back at her, before bathing Robert and his entire army in golden flames.

When she woke, she found Ser Arthur watching over her.

He looked different. He wore simpler armor and his shoulders were devoid of his white cloak.

His silver hair was also cut. It was no longer than her small finger.

“You are awake, your Grace,” he said with obvious relief and offered his hand to her. “How are you feeling?”

“I do not want to think about it or I am going to cry again,” she replied numbly and pulled herself out of bed. “Where is my babe?”

“His Grace is well,” he informed her and helped her put on her grey summer dress. “Wylla is taking care of him.”

“Don’t call him that!” Lyanna couldn’t help but to snap and searched for her cloak, fastening the garment around her shoulders. Then, she fastened her slender blade around her waist and pulled on her boots. She could barely look at it. It had been Rhaegar’s wedding gift. “It was never meant to be like this!”

She was about to flee the room, but Arthur grabbed her arm and pulled her backwards, forcing her to look at him.

“Rhaegar is dead,” he gave her the cold truth and grabbed her shoulders. “So are his other children. This babe is all that remains. He is our King and me must leave at once. You know that yourself.”

“I want to go home,” she countered in defiantly and pushed him away, before storming down the steps. “To Winterfell.”

“That’s a fools dream!” Ser Arthur called after her. “Your brother serves the usurper! He will hand the babe over to Robert!”

“Ned is too soft to do something like that!” she snapped back and brushed her tears away, but Arthur caught her in time.

“Lord Eddard Stark is loyal to King Robert. He fought and killed for him,” Arthur told her and forced her to look at him again. “You know it.”

It was true. Ned had fought against Rhaegar, but based on false assumptions.

Yet, this wasn’t about herself. This was about her babe. Rhaegar’s babe.

She owed it to Rhaegar to protect him, even if it meant to forsake her home.

“I know, but only because he believed me raped,” she replied sadly and forced a smile over her lips. “But you are right. We must leave. But how?”

Relief washed over Arthur Dayne’s face.

“We will go to Starfall and then sail across the Narrow Sea.”

Lyanna nodded her head and pushed the door open, entering the solar where she found Ser Oswell and Ser Gerold breaking their fast. Wylla smiled at her when she handed her the babe.

“He fed well,” she informed her and Lyanna held him close to her chest. His presence gave her the comfort she was seeking.

She also realized then that she had yet to give him a name.

_How silly I am,_ she thought and kissed his head. Suddenly, he opened his beautiful eyes, dark purple like Rhaegar’s had been whenever the sunlight fell on them. _I forgot to give you a name, my little pup._

Rhaegar and her had discussed names, mostly for girls. _Visenya_ , he had suggested for a girl while Lyanna had favored Alysanne.

For a boy he had suggested Jaehaerys or Daeron, but Lyanna had another name dear to her heart.

Benjen had always loved the tales about Ser Aemon the Dragonknight.

It was not a kingly name, but it was the name her heart desired.

“Aemon,” she declared and smiled at the men of the Kingsguard. “His name is Aemon.”

Ser Oswell gave her a grim nod and lifted his cup. She wondered if his face would crack if he tried to smile.

“To King Aemon, the First of his Name!”

“To King Aemon, the First of his Name! May he live long and prosper!” Ser Gerold Hightower added with a wry smile.

“And death to the usurper!” Arthur added icily. “And those who serve him!”

Lyanna shuddered when she heard this, but there was no other way.

So much she knew when she kissed her babe’s head.

With Robert alive her son would never be safe.

…


	2. The Truth

Castle Starfall loomed in the distance, its towers blackened by the shadows of the setting sun. Only the Palestone Tower gleamed bright and beautiful, standing vigil over the rushing waves of the Summer Sea to the west and the dry Red Mountains to the east.

For half his life, the Eyrie had been his home and not Winterfell with its grey towers and snow-swept courtyards.

Winterfell had been meant for his brother Brandon, but the Rebellion had changed everything. Brandon had died by the hands of the Mad King and his father Lord Rickard had perished shortly after.

His brother Benjen and his sister Lyanna, wherever she was, were the only family left to him.

Lyanna was also the reason he had travelled all the way to Dorne. Howland Reed had heard rumors that the Prince had brought her here.

“Ned,” Lord Howland Reed’s soft-spoken voice roused him out of his thoughts. “Someone is waiting for us.”

“I can see her,” Ned replied and lifted his head to find Lady Ashara Dayne waiting for them at the shore. She was garbed in a lilac dress and a violet hood concealed her face.

Ned had shared a brief dance with her at the tourney of Harrenhall, but her smiles had been meant solely for his brother Brandon.

He shouldn’t hold a grudge against his late brother, but at times he did, especially when he saw Lady Ashara’s gaunt face.

This was no longer the lovely maid he had seen at Harrenhall, but a woman burdened by grief.

Only her deep violet eyes looked the same, though they were wet with tears and filled with another feeling. Rage.

“What brings you all the way to Starfall, Lord Stark?” she asked and waved her hand at the servants, who brought them salt and bread.

“I came to find my sister,” Ned replied politely and broke the bread, before dipping it in the salt and washing it down with a cup of wine. “And I hoped you could be of help to me.”

“Come inside, but only Lord Stark,” was all she replied and led them into a spacious solar made of marbled walls. “Please sit down and make yourself comfortable, my Lord.”

Ned did as she asked and pulled off his cloak, though he felt guilty for leaving Lord Reed behind.

Once the Lady had sent the servants out of the solar, she took a seat on the other side of the table.

“I fear I cannot help you, my Lord,” she said and poured herself a cup of wine. “Your sister has long left Westeros and I am sure my brother will make sure to keep her safe from the Usurper’s swords.”

Ned was taken back by her words. She had been such a gentle lady and the way she had spoken about Robert could only be described as blood-thirsty.

“The Prince stole and raped my sister. Why hide my sister now that he is dead?” he countered cautiously.

The Lady’s violet eyes widened in surprise.

“Who told you this nonsense, my Lord?” she asked in return. “Robert Baratheon? Is this lie _his_ justification for murdering my friend Elia and her poor children?”

Ned froze when she had mentioned the Princess and her butchered children. The memory made him shudder and the fight he had with Robert was still fresh on his mind.

He had always believed that he knew Robert, but in that moment he had appeared a stranger to him.

 _Dragonspawn_ , he had called these butchered babes. Even now, Ned felt only disgust. Not even, Jon Arryn had been able to calm him.

Still, Lady Ashara’s words confused him.

“I do not understand…,” he began, but the Lady wasn’t hesitant to give them the truth.

“The Prince didn’t abduct your sister,” Lady Ashara explained. “On the contrary, he loved and wed her and fathered a child on her, a little Prince. I saw him with my own eyes.”

Ned could neither speak nor think, his mind reeling with this new piece of information.

It couldn’t be true. It made no sense. Brandon had been so convinced that Lyanna had been forcefully taken and had died for it.

“But why did my sister not write to me?” Ned asked and shuddered when a dark realization washed over him.

He suddenly recalled how Lyanna had pleaded with his father to call off the betrothal with Robert. He recalled how upset she had been with him after he had tried to convince her of Robert’s good character. And he recalled how she had smiled when the Prince had crowned her at the tourney.

The realization had come so suddenly that all air was drained from Ned’s chest. 

It had all been so clear and yet he had been blind to the truth.

“Of course, she wouldn’t write to me. She didn’t trust me,” Ned muttered to himself.

“I doubt it had anything to do with you,” Lady Ashara replied and brought the cup to her lips, drinking slowly. Then, she put the cup back on the table and smiled sadly. “Aerys was the reason they went into hiding. The King called for Rhaegar’s and Lyanna’s heads after he heard that his son ran away with a traitor’s daughter. He was convinced that Rhaegar wanted to wed her to win your father’s men to his side. That is the reason he burned Lord Rickard. Well, in the end his cruelty led to his downfall. You must be very happy to see your friend on the throne.”

“Robert will make a better King than Aerys,” Ned replied weakly or at least that is what he hoped…

“A fool would make a better King than Aerys,” Lady Ashara added mockingly. “Rhaegar was a fool to run away with your sister, but beyond that he was capable and had the will to change things for the better or at least that is what my brother would tell you if he was here with us. Not that it matters, for Rhaegar is dead and only his babe remains.”

Ned shook his head in silence.

The disappearance of his sister pained him, but the existence of the babe filled him with fear.

Robert would try to kill the babe if he ever found out about its existence.

Yet, Ned had called him his King. Not telling him was akin to treason.

Lying had never come easily to Eddard Stark, especially not to people that were dear to him.

Robert was dear to him, despite the disgust he felt about his behavior. Brandon had been dear to him, despite his disrespect towards Ned’s feelings. Lyanna was still dear to him, despite her foolishness.

“Where did your brother go, my Lady?”

“Essos is a vast land,” Lady Ashara replied calmly and poured more wine into her cup. “The Usurper will not find them nor will you. Arthur will make sure of that.”

“Your brother would be a fool to start another war,” Ned warned and brushed his hair out of his face. “Robert would crush him and he won’t care that the babe is mine or Lyanna’s blood.”

“My brother serves _his_ King,” Lady Ashara replied coldly, her violet eyes piercing into his. “And you are serving _yours_. That makes you an enemy to House Dayne. I could have you killed, my Lord. I am sure Oberyn Martell would be pleased to see the Usurper’s oldest friend dead. All of Dorne is calling for revenge and the day will come when we will receive this revenge. With Fire and Blood.”

“I don’t agree with Robert’s actions. That he didn’t punish Tywin for his crime is dishonorable,” Ned admitted grudgingly. “But it would be hard to remove him from the throne. He has Jon Arryn’s support and my wife’s father would not support Lyanna’s babe when he undertook so much effort in removing the Targaryens from power. And Robert, he is not a forgiving man. His rage is terrible to behold. There are many obstacles in the way of your brother.”

“Not obstacles,” Lady Ashara replied and rose to her feet. “Only _your_ petty excuses.”

Ned was hurt by her words, though there was a certain truth to it. He was tired of war and blood.

He wanted to go home and forget about all this, yet the threat of his sister’s babe would always loom over him like an executioner’s blade.

And there was another piece that didn’t quite fit the greater picture.

“Your Prince shamed his wife,” Ned remarked and searched her gaze. “Why do you support my sister’s babe?”

“People only see what they want to see,” Lady Ashara explained and chuckled. “My Princess knew everything about her husband’s plans. Or do you think Lyanna Stark could hide away in Dorne without the knowledge of Princess Elia?”

“No,” Ned admitted and sighed deeply. His head hurt from all these revelations and he was torn on his further course of action. “It makes sense that the Princess knew about her husband’s plans, but was Prince Doran also aware of it?”

“Elia was never particularly close with Prince Doran,” Ashara explained. “Oberyn was the closest to her heart, but I doubt she told either of her brothers about her husband’s plans. They would have perceived Lady Lyanna as a threat and might have tried to kill her babe.”

“This is a twisted tale, my Lady,” Ned sighed and felt the heavy burden of the truth weighing down on his shoulders. “And I do not know what to do.”

“Do nothing, my Lord,” Lady Ashara advised him. “Keep it a secret and bide your time. When the time comes you will be far away and safe in the North. That is when you will have to choose.”

All she had said was true, though Ned couldn’t say what he would do when the time came.

…

Winterfell’s grey walls greeted him from afar, but even so he felt afraid. He was now the Lord of Winterfell, a title that should have belonged to Brandon, just as Lady Catelyn and his son.

 _Robb_ , he recalled the name of his babe from Cat’s letter. _For Robert._

Ned didn’t know what he should think of that. He still loved Robert, despite their terrible quarrel before his departure from King’s Landing, but even so he had avoided returning to the capital after he had left Starfall behind him. He had of course penned a letter, informing Robert and Jon Arryn about his sister’s death, but he hadn’t been able to show Robert the heap of ash that was supposedly left of his sister. His had been disgusted by Robert’s lack of honor in regard to Princess Elia Martell and her murdered children, but even so he doubted he would be able to lie to his oldest friend.

 _That way I would have dishonored myself only more_ , he thought as he rode through the familiar gates of his Lord Father’s castle.

 _My castle_ , he reminded himself and climbed from his horse. _I am now the Lord of Winterfell._

Dutifully, the household had assembled, many of them unfamiliar to Ned. He had been a boy when he had left Winterfell for the Eyrie and now he felt like a stranger in his own halls.

 _Brandon would have known what to do_ , Ned was sure. He would have greeted everyone with a brazen smile, but Ned was not such a man. He was only the Quiet Wolf.

 _I must be a sore disappointment_ , he thought and swept his gaze over the crowd to find his brother Benjen, the last kin left to him. Lyanna was not dead, but she had shamed herself and now she had to face the consequences of these actions..

Benjen wouldn’t agree with him, he knew and it would be for the best to keep her survival a secret. Knowing his brother he would run off to the Free Cities to find her.

To lie to his own brother, that was even worse than to lie to Robert, a man he had named his King.

“My Lord,” a soft-spoken and unsure voice greeted him after the crowd had parted to give room to his Lady. “My Lord!”

She hadn’t changed much since he had last seen her. She was as beautiful as he recalled, which made their meeting all the more awkward.

Plain Ned Stark was not meant to be wed to a beauty.

“My Lady Catelyn,” he greeted her softly and took in her changed wardrobe. She wore a thick pelt cloak, gloves and a shawl was wrapped around her neck. Even so, she was trembling from head to toe. “It pleases to see me to see you again.”

Her face fell when she heard this. It seemed his greeting had left her wanting, but Ned felt it had been the only way to address her. They were wed, but practical strangers.

Their only connection was a vow hastily spoken in front of a Septon and the squirming child in the nursemaid’s arms.

She must have noticed his staring, for she was suddenly smiling again and waved her hand at the nursemaid, who stepped promptly forward to present the child to him.

His son had little of the North, so much he could see at the first glance, though that didn’t make him any less beautiful. He had a pale round head, auburn hair and bright blue eyes that reminded him of a summer sky.

Ned felt both warmth and fear as he stared at the gurgling babe. It made him think of his sister and the babe she had born. _A boy_ , Lady Ashara had told him. _A Prince. Rhaegar’s heir._

 _A threat to Robert’s rule,_ as Jon Arryn would say _. Like Rhaegar’s other children._

 _Dragonspawn,_ Robert had called them. _Dragonspawn._

“I named him Robb,” Lady Catelyn offered hopefully, but Ned’s mind was filled with confusion. He had no heart for heart-warming reunions. He needed to speak with someone he could trust. He needed to speak with Benjen.

“A good name,” Ned replied curtly and forced a smile over lips. “And I shall attend to him later. First, I hoped to speak to my brother. Where is Benjen?”

“Lord Benjen,” Lady Catelyn repeated quickly. “He…he is in the crypts.”

Ned shouldn’t have expected anything less.

“Forgive me, my Lady,” he replied apologetically and waved his hand at her. “I need to speak with my brother.”

The Lady Catelyn said nothing and Ned left to seek out the darkness of the crypts.

It didn’t take long, before he found his brother.

He too had changed since their parting. He had grown into a man, though the weary expression on his face could also be due to the darkness surrounding them.

The lantern Ned had taken from upstairs was old and only offered a weak gleam of light.

“Benjen,” he called out to his brother, who was almost invisible in his black garb. “Brother.”

“Ned,” he replied in a strained voice, his face a pale and long like his own. His features were marred by grief. “Is it true? Is she truly dead?”

Ned felt as if someone had slapped him in the face, his resolution of keeping Lyanna’s secret suddenly put into question.

This, was after all his brother, his last kin.

“Ned,” Benjen repeated more loudly and stepped closer. He looked desperate, his grey-blue eyes filled with grief and pain. “Are you deaf?”

“No,” Ned replied and touched his brother’s shoulder, his voice failing him. “I…”

“Is that what you heard?” Ned asked instead. “That Lyanna is dead?”

Benjen sucked in a deep breath and gave him a confused look.

“She is not? What are you trying to say? Speak plainly.”

He sounded impatient and frustrated, but Ned himself had a hard time to find his voice.

 _I cannot lie to my own brother_ , he realized then and suddenly everything was much easier.

“She is not dead,” the truth burst forward and his grip tightened on Ned’s shoulder. “It was a lie I had to made up to protect our family.”

“Protect our family?” Benjen asked and backed away. “From what? I do not understand. The Mad King is dead. Prince Rhaegar is dead. Where is Lyanna?”

“It was all a lie,” Ned forced the word over his lips. “The abduction was a lie. Apparently, Lyanna ran away with the Prince and wed him. Gods, she even birthed his child…,” Ned had continued to ramble, but Benjen had suddenly grabbed the vest of his tunic, his grey-blue eyes filled with confusion.

“His child?” Benjen asked impatiently. “Where did they go?”

“Essos,” Ned replied quickly. “The Kingsguard supposedly took her to Essos. At least that is what Lady Ashara Dayne told me.”

Benjen led go of Ned and stumbled backwards.

“We must find her,” Benjen stuttered and balanced himself against the wall. “I will go and find her.”

Ned didn’t believe his ears.

“And do what? Bring her here to Winterfell?” he asked and searched his brother’s face. “That would be treason…Robert…he,” he tried to reason with his brother, but Benjen cut him off.

“Robert Baratheon is the least of my priorities, Ned,” Benjen replied angrily. “This is our sister and her son we are speaking about. Do you want them to haven them roam the Free Cities like beggars?”

“She went freely…,” Ned began, but Benjen wanted to hear one of it.

“She belongs with us and the babe as well,” Benjen shouted. “And I will find her.”

“That’s utter nonsense!” Ned countered and grabbed his arm to keep him in place. “Essos is vast and I am sure the Kingsguard will make sure to hide her well. And if it comes to the worst Lyanna will return to put the babe on the throne.”

“Our nephew,” Benjen corrected him and freed himself from Ned’s grip. “And what do you meant with ‘if it comes to the worst’? Are you implying that you would fight your own sister?”

Ned didn’t know what to say. He was tired of war and if it meant to protect his family… Gods, I he didn’t know what to do.

“Gods, Ned,” Benjen scoffed with contempt. “You really need to open your eyes to the truth. Do you think Lyanna would run away without reason? She probably ran away, because she didn’t want to wed your whoring friend. She pleaded with father more than once, but he wouldn’t listen. I should have kept a closer eye on her.”

Ned was surprised by Benjen’s cold words. He had never known that his brother disliked him so much.

And he also realized how dangerous such thoughts could be for them.

“Robert is King,” Ned replied. “That is a truth we cannot change.”

“I see,” Benjen said at last and distanced himself from Ned. “You have already made your choice, brother.”

“Well, I have made mine as well,” Benjen replied and gave Ned a sad smile. “I am going to White Harbour. I have changed my plans…It seems I must become a knight and not a man of the Night’s Watch.”

…


	3. Home

Their new home was a two-storied house in the western part of Volantis. The white-washed walls were crumbling, the windows were dusty and the small orchard that could be found in the inner courtyard was overgrown with weed.

It had taken Lyanna nearly a week to clear out the dust and cobwebs while Arthur had proved surprisingly capable in repairing the broken roof. The orchard had been the most work as she had little understanding about gardening and didn’t even know the name of the fruits growing in these ancient-looking trees.

Arthur hadn’t been able to find out who had resided here before, but perhaps that was for the best. This house had long been deserted which made Lyanna believe that something bad had happened here.

Arthur and Ser Oswell, who shared her fear, had also tried to find a guard, though that had proved harder than anticipated. They couldn’t take anyone. It needed to be someone who didn’t speak the Common Tongue and who didn’t ask more questions than necessary. They also had ot use the coin Lord Dayne had given them sparingly as they still had to get a nursemaid should Lyanna not be able to feed her babe herself. Arthur had wanted to take Wylla with them, but the young woman had wept when she had heard that she had to leave her family behind and Lyanna hadn’t been able to separate the young woman from her home and children.

By the third week, Oswell and Arthur had found three guardsmen and a young woman that was meant to help Lyanna take care of her babe and other household duties.

The three guardsmen couldn’t have been more different from each other. There was Laho, a buff man with dark skin that was fluent in Bastard Valyrian and little else. He was of a half-Dothraki half-Ghiscari breed, Ser Arthur had informed her, though that meant little to Lyanna. The other two men were a bit younger and supposedly hailed from Tyrosh. Darun and Zaal they were called and going just by their similar features Lyanna guessed they were brothers or at least kin. They had similar narrow grey eyes, red eyebrows and bright-colored hair that was most likely not natural, which made it easy to differentiate them. Darun had blue hair and Zaal had pink locks and sported and even more colorful beard. Like Laho, both men only spoke their mother tongue and Bastard Valyrian. The young woman that was meant to help Lyanna with the daily household chores hailed from an even more foreign place called Yi Ti, though according to Yang, as she called herself, she had been sold as young girl and had barely any memories of her previous home, though she was still quite fluent in her mother tongue. That she was also a slave had shocked her even more,but Arthur had sat her down and explained his reasons.

_You can set her free if you like, but slaves are more obedient and cheaper. This one also supposedly speaks Tyroshi, High Valyrian, Yi Ti and Bastard Valyrian. She can not only help you with the daily housework, but also educate ‘the little pup’ once he is a bit older. Her master assured me that she is an excellent teacher and not prone to gossiping._

Lyanna had still been upset to keep a slave in her household, but even more had upset her that Arthur was planning to leave them to join a sellsword company.

Over the last one and a half years, she had grown increasingly fond of his presence. It was different with Ser Oswell. He was always polite to her, but she couldn’t quite warm up to him. He was a grim man and by age he could be her father. The others didn’t speak her language, though she was trying hard to learn the barbed dialect of Bastard Valyrian that was common in this city.

No, she couldn’t imagine being alone with these strangers.

“And who is going to train me when you are gone?” she asked Arthur the day before his planned departure.

She had made several attempts to convince him to stay longer, but every time he had found a good counter argument.

“Ser Oswell can do it,” Arthur replied with obvious amusement and continued to stir the fir back to life. Their kitchen was a round chamber furnished with a simple fireplace for cooking, but little else. “You just have to ask him.”

Lyanna frowned and leaned her head on her pulled-up knees, her gaze always fixed on the babe in the wooden basket. Yang had called her babe ‘a pleasant child’ as Arthur had translated for her, because he hardly cried and only stirred when he was hungry or wet himself. Lyanna knew she should be happy about that, but at times she felt utterly bored. At first, she had occupied herself with housework and learning, but she was used to roam free and ride her horse through the Wolfswood. Here in Volantis she had no such freedom and at times she felt as if she was choking, though she tried to hide these feelings from the others. They had enough things to worry about.

They had a guard, but this part of the city was not the safest place and murder and rape were not uncommon. Thus, Arthur and Oswell rarely allowed her to go outside beyond sunset, let alone go out onto the street without one of the men accompanying her.

It made her wish that she had more of Yang’s and Ser Oswell’s nature. The young woman was always calm and did her work without complaint. She seemed quite satisfied with her situation and was always cheerful when Lyanna was feeling depressed about being scooped up in this house. Ser Oswell, who spent most of his time watching the street outside, was equally quiet, though at times he trained with the guards or watched her and Arthur spar.

 _He thinks it inappropriate_ , Lyanna was sure. _He wouldn’t refuse training me, but he would also make fun of me._

“You can train me once you return,” she replied instead. “What sellsword company do you have in mind?”

“The Second Sons,” Ser Arthur replied and shoveled the broth into his mouth. “It is only a start and once I have gained some reputation it shouldn’t be hard to find better employment. The Golden Company comes to mind or perhaps the Windblown. I heard good things about the Tattered Prince. His men are known to be disciplined soldiers. Well, the Golden Company would be an even better choice, but Ser Gerold will not like that.”

“How so?” Lyanna asked and smiled when she noticed that her babe had stirred from his sleep. He was now nearly half a year old and able to sit up on his own. He also looked more like a person now. His round face had thinned and a mob of brown hair had formed atop his head. His formerly dark eyes had also changed to a grey color, though at times they appeared purple or indigo, almost as dark as Rhaegar’s eyes.

“The Golden Company was founded by Blackfyre loyalists. I doubt they would support the enemy,” Arthur explained and stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth. Baking bread, Lyanna had also learned from Yang, though her first attempt had ended in a good dozen of burned rolls. It had been a waste of flour and coin. “Well, things will be easier once our ‘little pup’ comes of age.”

“That is fourteen years in the future,” Lyanna remarked and sighed. Fourteen years felt almost like a lifetime for her. “Until then I will have forgotten what Westeros looked like. And my son…How can he be King of a land he doesn’t even know?”

“He is Rhaegar’s heir,” Arthur replied firmly. “That is all that counts and who knows what will happen in the next years. House Targaryen has ruled over Westeros for three-hundred years. It is never easy to establish a new dynasty. Robert Baratheon will see that. And being King, well that is even harder. I have not seen much of Robert Baratheon, but he didn’t strike me as kingly material. He is a warrior and warriors rarely have interest in being scooped in a dusty council chamber. Unless someone starts a rebellion against him he will soon grow bored of his crown and dedicated himself to his old pleasures.”

Lyanna couldn’t help but to chuckle. “Robert is certainly fond of women. On the day of our first meeting he was rutting one of the kitchen maids. Benjen came about him in the stables. I told Ned too, but he told me that was just another one of Robert’s small missteps. It makes me wonder who he is going to choose as his Queen.”

“He is going to need patient women if the rumors about his promiscuity are true,” Arthur played along and smiled. He was handsome man, though he lacked Rhaegar’s soft beauty. His face was sharp and long and marred by scars from his trainings as a knight. Only his bright violet eyes and shoulder-length silver hair helped to soften his face. “He has already one bastard, doesn’t he? Well, let’s hope he fathers more of them for that will help to weaken his allegiance. Well, if we are lucky we will soon hear of Ser Gerold.”

Lyanna hoped that was the case. She wanted to know whether her brothers were still alive and what had happened to Rhaegar’s brother and mother. All she knew was that they had sailed to Dragonstone. She prayed every day that they were well and far away from Robert.

“You probably won’t be here when the time comes,” Lyanna pointed out and hoped he might change his mind or at least delay his departure. “You could wait a few more moons.”

“Only one of us two needs to be here,” Arthur assured her with a smile, hid violet eyes seeking her babe, who had decided that he no longer wanted to sleep had sat up, watching them from his wooden basket. “And when I return this one will have grown a few inches. I am looking forward to it.”

“Well, I hope it is not too long,” Lyanna complained. “Or I will forget everything you taught me.”

Arthur chuckled and jerked his head at Oswell, whose shadowy form could be seen through the windows. As every night, he was keeping watch until dawn before one of the other guardsmen would take his position. It was also then when Yang would rise and get fresh water from a nearby well . Then, Lyanna would help her bake bread, clean and take care of the orchard while doing her best to feed her babe whenever he demanded her breast.

It was nothing compared to the adventure that awaited Arthur.

“When my son is grown I am going to join you,” she promised enthusiastically.

Arthur looked amused and shoveled the last bits of broth into his mouth. “That will be the day Ser Gerold takes my head.”

…

Oldtown looked as he recalled it, a labyrinth of crisscrossing alleys, narrow crookback streets and countless markets, selling all kind of different goods. Gerold knew them all by name, the Thieve’s Market and the Ragpicker’s Wynd the most prominent ones.

Like King’s Landing, Oldtown was a city of stones, although there could be some wooden bridges found as well. The city itself was surrounded by thick and high stone walls and the weather was even worse than in King’s Landing. In winter it was cold and wet and during summer the city was steaming and sweltering and rarely came to life until the night had fallen.

As he wandered through the streets of his childhood, he felt almost like a stranger. Since he had entered the Kingsguard he had never spent a single day without his armor, but now he was dressed like a common merchant, though his blade was always close to hand.

As he passed the Quill and Tankard, a well-known inn, located on its own island in the Honeywine river, he felt again like a young man. He followed river road, the Citadel casting long shadows over the city. Downriver he could see the Starry Sept, which had been raised by Lord Triston Hightower and had been the seat of the High Septon until the Great Sept of Baelor had usurped this position. Many more septs could be found there and temples catering to the many foreigners that were common in a port city like Oldtown.

Yet neither the Citadel nor these many septs were the goal of his travel. No, he had come here to speak to his family, hoping to gather support for his cause, though he would keep the truth about his allegiance to himself.

The seat of his family was not hard to miss. The Hightower was a massive stepped lighthouse located on the Battle Isle, where the Honeywine widens into the Whispering sound. Atop of said tower gleamed a bright beacon, guiding the ships the way to the port.

As he was allowed entrance into the large courtyard that led to the stables and Lord’s quarters he was greeted by a familiar face.

He hadn’t seen Baelor in years, but he had changed into a splendid young man of tall stature and was graced with a finely-shaped face framed by curled brown hair. Even so, there had always been a certain sadness to be found in his golden eyes, though that might have had other reasons than most people expected. The young man had been quite enamored with the Princess Elia and had been deeply hurt by her rejection, but then not even the heir to House Hightower hadn’t been able to compare to the Prince of Dragonstone. Gerold hadn’t known the reasons for the rejection, but the Princess had always avoided speaking about his grand-nephew, perhaps because she wanted to avoid gossiping of the courtiers as the Dornish women were often mocked at court for their supposedly lack of chastity.

“Grand-Uncle,” Baelor greeted him with a warm smile and waved his hands at the guardsmen. “My father has been waiting for you.”

“And I am anxious to see him,” Gerold replied and lowered his head in greeting. “I have much to tell him.”

“I can only imagine,” the young man said with a sad look and showed him the way to the Lord’s solar, a large round chamber, held by gilded pillars and marble floor so polished that Gerold could see his form reflected back at him. “Though I am surprised to find you alone. What happened to your brothers? Did they leave you to join the Prince and Princess?”

Gerold frowned at that. He had heard that Prince Viserys and Queen Rhaella had fled to Dragonstone, but had heard nothing of a Princess. Could it be that the Queen had been with child when the King sent her away?

“A Princess?” Gerold asked and stopped for a moment to give Baelor enough time to explain. “Was the Queen with child?”

Baelor gave him a surprise look. “I am surprise you didn’t know, but it is true. They say the Queen had born a child while the worst storm in a century had smashed the Targaryen Fleet to pieces. The Usurper’s allies even call it a sign of the gods that his quest against the Targaryens’ had been approved by the gods themselves.”

“The gods can keep their opinions to themselves,” Gerold scoffed. “I serve my King and no gods. And Robert Baratheon will die should he ever cross my way.”

“They also say that Prince Viserys and the little Princess have been taken away by Ser William Darry,” Baelor added and went to a golden door that led into the Lord’s chamber. “Sadly, Queen Rhaella died in childbirth or at least that is what the rumors say.”

Ser Gerold could only shrug his shoulders and hope the poor woman had finally found some peace. The gods know, she had suffered enough in her life. He only hoped that Aerys was now burring in the seven hells. Even though, he had been his king and he had been sworn to guard him, Gerold had never felt much love for the man. He had served Prince Rhaegar and had wanted to see him on the throne. Now all that remained was his son and heir, his King Prince Aemon Targaryen.

“My brothers will find them and protect them,” he assured Baelor with a pat on the shoulder and stepped through the door.

His nephew Layton Hightower hadn’t changed much since their last meeting. Like Baelor he was of a tall stature, though his hair was beginning to turn grey.

“I didn’t think you would return so soon,” was all he said as he lifted his head to take in Gerold’s form. He was a quiet and humorless man, much like his father had been. As a child he had dreamed of becoming a Maester, but his older brother had perished young and thus he had been forced to succeed Gerold’s brother at the age of ten and three. “Lord Tyrell was convinced that you are dead.”

“I am not,” Gerold replied curtly and pulled off his cloak, before making his way to the large glass windows allowing a wide view over the city. A grey sky hung over the city, but the bright-colored sails of the ships cruising down the river made for a beautiful sight. “And neither are my brothers Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Oswell Whent.”

He paused then and turned around to look at his nephew.

“I think you can imagine why I came here. I have need of your help.”

“For our new King I assume?” Layton asked. “King Viserys, the third of his name. Are you already planning a rebellion?”

“Not yet,” Gerold replied. “I am planning for the future. Our loss is too fresh and it is better to allow the usurper to get comfortable in his seat until we strike again. And knowing Mace Tyrell he will not lift a single finger unless Prince Viserys stands before the Red Keep with an army of his own.”

“Mace is a cautious man,” Layton agreed. “But he has a daughter now. Lady Margaery Tyrell.”

Gerold knew at once what he was trying to say. “You want me to promise Mace Tyrell a crown? A steward married to a Prince of House Targaryen? Well, I suppose that is one possibility, but for now we should bide our time. To bridge the time I have need of your support.”

Layton nodded his head and stroked his forked beard. “You shall have all the coin you need, but also have to be careful. The usurper is supposedly employing the help of a certain Spider.”

“Curse that traitor!” Gerold couldn’t help but to grumble. “I should have cut the rat’s head off before I left. Well, now it is too late for past regrets. We must think of the future of House Targaryen.”

“I agree,” Layton added. “But I fear I have news that will trouble you.”

“What happened?” Gerold asked sarcastically. “Did the Usurper hatch dragons?”

Layton chuckled.

“Gods, no, but they say Robert Baratheon is going to wed Cersei Lannister. A powerful allegiance for sure.”

Gerold wasn’t surprised. Tywin Lannister’s daughter was supposedly very beautiful and Robert Baratheon was known for his love for women.

“Tywin will die as well,” Gerold promised with clenched teeth. “He and his golden-haired son. I will lop of their pretty heads one after another like our cook used to do with the chickens, but for now we must accept this defeat and plan for the future.”

Gerold paused and pondered every possibility, before asking for his nephew’s opinion.

“What do you think? Should we approach Lord Tyrell as well?”

“I have to disagree,” Layton replied. “Mace Tyrell is not a man that can be trusted with secrets. He might sell us out to the Usurper, especially if he promised his little girl a crown.”

Gerold scoffed.

“Well, then let’s hope that Cersei Lannister fails in pupping the Usurper an heir.”

Layton nodded his head in agreement.

“May the gods grant your wish, Grand-Uncle. May the gods grant your wish.”

…


	4. The Fall of the Krakens

“It’s done,” Robert said with a satisfied smile as he swept his gaze over the cliffy bay of Pyke. “The Krakens are defeated.”

He wore polished plate and a golden cloak, made of the same cloth as the ships that had brought them all the way to Pyke to put an end to Balon Greyjoy’s short-lived rebellion.

“It is done, your Grace,” Ned confirmed and swept his gaze over the bay. A bloody glimmer hung over the sky and he counted more than twenty burning ships and even more corpses that would provide fodder for the fish. Even so, there was something wild and beautiful about this barren place. It reminded him of the North, his home, the place he hoped to return to soon. “It is done.”

“This place is a shithole. Better would be to burn all of it down,” Robert grumbled and turned his antlered head, casting a long shadow behind him.

There was something terrifying about his old friend, like in the old days when he had slain Rhaegar Targaryen at the Trident. Ned had been there when Prince Rhaegar and Robert had fought in the rushing waters of the river. At times, he dreamed of it as well. Two men, one black, the other golden, exchanging one blow after another, dancing around each other. It had been a dance Robert knew well and that had cost Rhaegar’s life, but that had been years ago and Ned knew of the boy that might one day challenge Robert for another dance, only this time Robert would be old and this boy would have no other than Ser Arthur Dayne at his side.

It made him wonder what Lya’s boy looked like. Was he silver-haired and purple-eyed like his father or did he look like a Stark, all long faced and grey-eyed like Ned himself…

“Damn you Ned!” Robert’s booming voice snapped him back to the present. “Are you even listening?”

Ned lowered his head. “Forgive me, my mind was elsewhere.”

“The barren wasteland you call home?” Robert asked and shouldered his massive war hammer.

The Siege of Pyke had ended hours ago, but he still carried the warhammer around, smudged with the blood of his enemies.

The battle had begun with the destruction of Botley Castle and the ravaging of the town of Lordsport located beneath it, before the main attack on castle Pyke had been launched.

Their good thousand men had assaulted the southern walls with siege engines, shattering the main watchtower and bringing down the walls.

Yet, the real battle had only started when Thoros of Myr had stormed through the breech to slay Maron Greyjoy, Balon Greyjoy’s second-eldest son, with his flaming sword coated in wildfire. Ned had never seen anything like it, but Ser Jorah Mormont had proven himself just as mad as he had rushed after him into the battle.

Ned had fought too, but he had never been the kind of men who sought glory. He had been here for a simpler reason: out of loyalty for a man he had accepted as King and now that his work was done he wanted to do nothing more than to return home to his family. That his wife had been carrying their third child when he had left was another reason, though the real reason was hidden in the darkest corner of his heart. Lya’s boy.

“No, your Grace,” Ned replied with a sigh. “To my wife and children. My third one was probably born during my absence.”

The expression on Robert’s face darkened when he heard this.

“You must bring your children south. I have yet to meet them,” he remarked, his voice laced with a strange sadness. “The oldest was named after me? Robb, right?”

“He was,” Ned confirmed, though it had been Cat who had named their son. “And a daughter. Sansa.”

“And hopefully another son, eh?” Robert asked and gave one of his booming laughs as he patted Ned’s shoulder. “One that will be able to play with mine. They will be roughly the same age.”

Ned was happy on his account. Queen Cersei had given Robert a single son named Joffrey, but he supposed it was good to have a spare heir.

“That is good to hear,” Ned replied. “When will your Queen deliver the babe?”

Robert scoffed at that.

“Gods, no!” Robert grumbled with obvious displeasure. “Cersei is not with child. At least, she wasn’t with child when I left. Well, I ploughed her field before I left. Mayhaps she is indeed carrying my babe, but I was speaking of another, a truly lovely lady that has won my affection.”

Ned froze. Robert was known to have his fair share of lovers on the side, though Jon Arryn had dearly hoped he would change this habit over the years.

“A lovely lady?” Who?”

“Lady Lynesse Hightower,” Robert told him with a knowing smile. “Lovely to behold and of a strong character as well.”

Ned was confused.

“Isn’t she wed to Renly?”

“Aye,” Robert confirmed and lowered his warhammer to the ground to lean on it. “I arranged the match specifically, because she was carrying my babe. Truly, I am only telling you about it, because I know that you are not going to talk. Even Jon doesn’t know about the babe.”

Ned was flabbergasted.

“And Renly accepts that?”

Robert roared with laughter and waved his free hand.

“Renly doesn’t care about anything as long as he can dress prettily. Well, Lynesse brother cared….that fool, I forgot his name…he even challenged me for a duel.”

Ned was horrified, but Robert grinned as if he was talking about one of their childhood adventures in the Eyrie.

“Baelor,” Ned added quietly and still shell-shocked by this revelation. “I think his name is Baelor. Did you fight him?”

“I would have liked to do that, but his father forbade it.”

Ned was relieved to hear that. The Hightowers had been Targaryen loyalists during the Rebellion and to make them an enemy was no good idea.

“I am sure Jon was relieved as well,” Ned added, his gaze wandering back to the bright sun, descending behind the never-ending sea. “He doesn’t like it when you are risking your life unnecessarily.”

“Jon is always complaining,” Robert scoffed. “Would be a bad sign if he didn’t.”

Ned couldn’t help but to agree with that. Jon was a worry-wart, but often for a good reason.

“What was he complaining about?”

Within the blink of a moment Robert’s gaze had changed to a more serious expression. It must have been a kingly matter.

“My plans for the Targaryen children displeased him,” Robert replied and searched Ned’s gaze, his deep blue eyes as bright as the stormy sea of Pyke. “I asked Varys to find and them and to put an end to the threat. The Greyjoy Rebellion is proof that not everyone has yet accepted me as the rightful King.”

Ned froze, his memories of the sack of King’s Landing returning to him. The butchered corpses of Rhaegar’s children danced before his eyes. The memory made him feel sick.

“Is that necessary?” Ned asked. “Balon Greyjoy is a grown man and was a fool to challenge you, but Viserys Targaryen is a boy and his sister a girl of five not much older than my own daughter.”

Robert’s hard gaze told him that he didn’t agree with his assessment of the situation.

“The boy will always be a threat as long as he lives and the girl as well. She will try pup more dragons once she is old enough,” he added, an expression of displeasure washing over his face.

“Damn you, Ned!” he cursed. “I know this face. You are disagreeing with me.”

“I do,” Ned said without hesitation. “Wasn’t the reason for our Rebellion against Aerys to bring about justice?”

“That much is obvious,” Robert replied with nod of his head, indicating that he was willing to listen to Ned’s council.

“The Mad King, no,…the Targaryens have paid the price for their injustice. I suppose its unavoidable that blood will be shed during a war, but killing children, killing innocents is another matter. If you want to be better than Aerys, your rule must be build on bettering the life of your people. Killing innocent children only undermines the base upon which you built your kingship.”

Robert had listened in silence, but with every new word spilling from Ned’s lips his cheeks had turned a shade redder.

“You know that I hold no love for the dragonspawn,” he replied tensely. “And I do not understand why you hold so much love for the family that murdered your father, brother and sister.”

“The Mad King did that, not his children,” Ned countered defensively.

“Children who might lay a claim on my crown,” Robert grumbled. “As long as they are alive there is a chance for rebellion. Why not kill them now that they are weak and prevent another war that could cost our men’s life?”

Ned didn’t know why, but he recalled another man who had spoken like this to justify his vile murder of innocents.

“You sound almost like Lord Tywin Lannister,” Ned couldn’t help but to remark. “And since you are asking for my council, I shall give it. When your opponents are grown men like Balon Greyjoy, no matter what means you use, there is no shame. But if you kill innocent children your hands are stained with blood and no matter how you try to justify it, you won’t ever be able to wash away this stain. Robert, why do you lower yourself for temporary gain?”

“It’s your blood honor again,” Robert scoffed and shrugged his shoulders. “But honor is only a hinderance for a King. It goes not keep my lords from plotting against me. It is a sweet dream for men like you.”

“It is how I rule the North,” Ned defended himself, but saw no understanding in Robert’s features.

“The children must die and this is my last word,” he insisted coldly. “And now let us speak about something else, of the future. I want to make a request, two requests actually.”

Ned knew by the tone in his voice that their talk was at an end.

And mayhaps Robert was right. Mayhaps Ned was too soft of heart.

Brandon, his wild brother, would have probably agreed with Robert. He was not the kind of man to show pity to his enemies.

“What request, your Grace?”

Robert smiled again, obviously pleased that Ned was prepared to change the topic.

“That you will take Balon’s girl as your ward.”

Ned nodded his head in confirmation, though he knew Cat won’t be pleased to have an Ironborn girl in Winterfell.

“I shall take her, your Grace.”

“Good,” Robert added, his smile growing wider. “I also want a match between my son and your girl. Joff and Sansa. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Ned didn’t know what to say. He felt like a dimwit who had lost his ability to form words.

“That would be inappropriate,” Ned finally managed to say. “Your lords would see it as plain favoritism.”

Robert frowned and stroked his beard.

“You gave me the crown. It is only right that you are rewarded for your loyalty, Ned,” Robert said at last and patted his shoulder once more. “I won’t accept a refusal from you. Your girl will be my boy’s bride.”

“What about Lord Tywin?” Ned asked, hoping to dissuade him from this idea. “Won’t he be displeased?”

“Tywin can kiss my royal ass,” Robert declared loudly. “I am the boy’s father and I shall decide his future.”

Ned knew that this was Robert’s last word and lowered his head in acknowledgement.

“You do me a great honor, your Grace.”

“A great honor?” Benjen’s angered voice echoed through the small round chamber that belonged to New Castle, the seat of House Manderly. “Have you lost your mind, brother? Fighting wars for him I can understand, but to agree to a betrothal is utter madness.”

His brother had grown half and head over the last years and was now towering over Ned. He had also been knighted and served as captain of the guards in Lord Manderly’s household.

“Refusal would be madness!” Ned returned with a frown. “People would start asking questions why the King’s oldest friend refuses such an advantageous match. Besides, they are still children. A lot of things can happen in the next years and knowing Robert he might change his mind in the near future.”

Benjen frowned. It was the same stubborn look that Lyanna always carried when something didn’t go her way.

“I am just as torn as you, Ben,” Ned remarked and searched his brother’s face for understanding. “Especially after Robert told me about his plans for the Mad King’s children.”

Benjen froze.

“He means to kill them?” Benjen asked. “But why? He has left them alone all these years? What changed his mind?”

“Balon’s Rebellion,” Ned explained the obvious answer. “The only good thing is…he made no mention of a third Targaryen, which means Ser Arthur was smart enough to keep away from Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys. Gods, I do not want to know what will happen should he try to help them.”

“Give me your blessing to leave,” Benjen declared suddenly, his blue-grey eyes filled with determination. “I think it is very likely that Arthur Dayne might have joined a sellsword company. A skilled man liked him should be known far and wide, don’t you think?”

“You won’t go,” Ned replied coldly. “I won’t allow it.”

“I am a knight now,” Benjen replied and met his gaze. “I will go with or without your blessing.”

“You will or you will no longer be called a Stark.”

Benjen’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Be careful what you say, brother,” Benjen replied through clenched teeth and left him standing there like a fool.

Ned had left on the same day, to take Asha Greyjoy to her new home. She was nothing but thin girl with a crop of brown hair and fiery temper. She had nearly bitten of one of his men’s ears as they had dragged on board.

Now she had calmed and was watching the Greatjon sharpen his sword, her knobby knees pulled up to her chin and her blue eyes filled with sadness and a hint of defiance.

Ned couldn’t help but to be sad when he looked at this girl, the last child of Balon Greyjoy.

It made him wonder if the foolish old man regretted his actions.

His sons had all perished. The oldest one had been slain beneath the Walls of Seaguard, his second-oldest son had been slain by Thoros of Myr and his youngest had perished by the pox barely a few moons before the start of the rebellion.

 _I do not want to see my children end up like this_ , he realized then and averted his gaze from the lonely girl. _Gods help me, I do not know what to do._

…


	5. Meetings

Arthur wrinkled his nose at the smell of the tavern.

It was the smell of stale ale and sweating men who had seen blood and battle, though some of them would most likely seek out the baths in company of the Lysean whores fluttering around the tables.

Arthur had once been a man of the Kingsguard and for many years he had tried to keep to that vow, but at the end of the day he was only a man and couldn’t help but to admire the girls’ dainty bodies. He had shamed himself two times during his time with the Second Sons, but tonight he would keep to his principles.

That these serving girls were smiling at him whenever they passed by made it only harder.

The other men certainly didn’t have the same reservations. They drank, gambled and celebrated their bloody victory against the Long Lances. Lys had hired them to fight another useless squabble over the Disputed Lands with Myr, who had bought a score of Unsullied and the services of the Second Sons.

Arthur had no been very impressed by the leaders of said company, but now that they had gotten rid of Mero, they had turned into a passable group of fighters. That Arthur had recently risen to the rank of captain had made him even more inclined to stay.

Yet, the Second Sons would never be enough to see Rhaegar’s boy on the Iron Throne.

He would need the Golden Company and the loyalty of at least some of the more powerful houses or their rebellion would be futile. The Tyrells were one option and their connection to the Hightowers might help, but Mace Tyrell was a fickle man. The Martells wouldn’t support Lyanna Stark’s son without a marriage, but Arthur doubted the Dornish spears would be enough and the fact that the Tyrells and the Martells held a petty dislike for each other made an allegiance even more difficult.

“Do you want some more?” one of the servant girls asked him in a sweet voice. She was tall and golden-haired as was common in these lands. Her dress was also quite revealing and Arthur felt his manhood stir when he laid eyes on her pert breasts.

“Please,” Arthur replied and forced a smile over his lips. He was still dressed in his armor and his sword was fastened at his hip.

The girl smiled and filled his cup to the brim. As she had leaned over the table her breasts had nearly jumped out of her chemise.

The sight made Arthur dizzy and he took a quick swag from his ale.

“Do you like the sight?” the girl asked sweetly.

She wanted him, so much he could see.

It could be so easy. He could take her up to his chambers and fuck her.

It would certainly satisfy his hardening cock, but it would also soil his vows.

Yet, he couldn’t resist.

“You have pretty breasts, my Lady,” he replied politely and averted his gaze.

She giggled and swept her hair over her shoulder. “You are a Dornishman?”

Arthur was displeased that she had noticed his accent.

“I have lived there for some years, but I originally hail from Lys.”

“Lys?” she asked and twirled his silver hair between her fingers. “Well, you certainly have the right kind of coloring. Funny that you have been fighting for the enemy.”

“I am a sellsword,” he retorted. “I fight for gold.”

“And I work for gold,” she teased and slipped her hand beneath the table, stroking him gently. “But for you I would do it for free.”

It was a tempting offer. At least he wouldn’t have to feel guilty about wasting coin for the company of a whore and then these distracting thoughts would finally leave him.

“Done.”

The girl laughed. “So, where will we go?”

“To my chamber,” he offered and emptied his cup. It was a quick fuck without much emotions shared between them, though she must have enjoyed it well enough, for her face was deeply flushed and a bright smile curled on her lips after she had washed his seed away.

Now she was lying naked on his bed, her long golden hair falling around her face like a shroud.

Arthur had always preferred dark-haired girls, but this one had grey eyes. He had always liked grey eyes. It was a rare color in Essos.

“You are a bit out of practice, are you not?” she asked in amusement.

“Perhaps,” Arthur replied and laced up his breeches. “Do you want your coin after all?”

The girl giggled and waved her hand as she leaned down to pick up her dress.

“Oh, no,” she assured him. “I rarely get a good-looking man like you. I was just surprised. Someone like you must have a hundred women waiting for him.”

“I fear you are overestimating my popularity,” he replied.

“I haven’t even asked your name?” she asked as she fastened her dress with leather belt. “I am Mirella.”

“Why do you care?” he asked suspiciously.

“To make sure that I find you again once you return.”

“Ser Symon Snowlock,” Arthur offered in return. It was a false name, but he doubted the whore cared.

“That is a most amusing name,” she said and giggled. ”And a strange coincidence.”

“A strange coincidence? I do not understand…”

“A man asked going by that name?”

Arthur tensed.

“A man? What man? Where did you meet him?”

He whore’s smile vanished.

“Only a few hours ago. I told him that I do not know such a man and he left to return to search a place for the night.”

“Where?” Arthur asked. “Where did he go?”

“The Silver Bird,” she offered in confusion.

Arthur didn’t hesitate to fasten his cloak and sword, before he opened he door. “Forgive me for depriving you of my company, but I must go.”

The Silver Bird he found easily, but the man he had to ask for. Dark-haired and long-faced with a rough accent.

_A Northman_ , Arthur guessed and knew what he had to do. _Nobody could know about his King. Nobody._

The owner of the tavern was hesitant to tell him, but once he had handed him a bag of clinking coin he had relented and had told Arthur were he would find the man.

The man had barely opened the door, before Arthur had hauled him to the ground, Dawn looming dangerously close to his neck.

“Who are you and what do you want?”

The man looked pale, his grey-blue eyes narrowed.

“I am Benjen Stark,” he explained quickly. “And I come in peace, Ser Arthur. I only want to see my sister.”

“Your sister is safe.”

“And her child?”

“You know about him?” Arthur asked and pressed his blade closer to his neck. “Who told you?”

“My brother, but he heard it all from your sister, Lady Ashara Dayne. Please, I am not here in the name of King Robert. I came to see my sister and her babe. Nothing more and nothing less.”

“Do you think me stupid?” Arthur asked. “Your brother serves the usurper. Why should I trust you.”

“Lyanna would,” Benjen Stark insisted. “And I say it again…I am not serving King Robert. I only came to see my sister…if you do not believe me let me tell you this: I know that King Robert sent assassins after Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys.”

_God be good_ , Arthur thought. _That cannot be…_

“How do you know that?”

“My brother told me,” Benjen Stark offered in return. “He was against my plans of coming here, but I came anyway. Please, I only wish to speak…,” he continued, but Arthur cut him off.

“I don’t trust you,” he told him coldly. “And I should kill you.”

“Lyanna would never forgive you,” Benjen Stark warned.

“True,” Arthur sighed and let go of him. As he rose to his feet he sheeted Dawn. “And you are lucky, my Lord. You shall not die today.”

Relief showed on Benjen Stark’s face.

“Does that mean I can mean you sister?”

“No, I won’t allow you to see your sister until you have proven trustworthy.”

Disappointment showed on Benjen Stark’s face.

“I cannot go back,” he explained. “But I would like to help.”

Arthur nodded his head and offered his hand to the man.

“Tell me, have you ever considered joining a sellsword company, Lord Benjen?”

…

Lyanna watched as her little boy continued to attack the sea monster Arthur had painted on the crumbling wall. In his right hand her son held a little wooden sword and in his left hand he held a round shield. The shield had been made by Arthur and the wooden sword had been made by Ser Oswell Whent. To her surprise, the grim old man had turned out to be an excellent woodcarver.

_A fancy from my childhood_ , he had told her. _Please spare me your laughter, your Grace._

Lyanna hadn’t laughed and had even commissioned several other useful things from him, among them several cups, spoons and a wooden dragon.

At first, Ser Oswell had frowned, but by now he was joyfully carving whenever he found the time to do so.

Not that he had much to do. The small house they had made their home was built in one of the better parts of the city. Merchants, peddlers and money lenders lived here in this bustling part of Volantis. That it was easy to disappear among the multitude of tongues and people was another reason Arthur had chosen this as their hiding place.

That had been almost seven years ago, but to Lyanna it felt almost like a lifetime. At times, her heart ached so much for home that she wanted to weep, but she knew that there was no other way. Essos was the only safe place for her boy. At least until they could return home, though at times she had doubts about the future.

Ser Gerold Hightower, who visited them once a year, had remained back in Westeros and was keeping them updated on the events at home. Thus, Lyanna had heard about Robert’s marriage to Cersei Lannister and the birth of his heir Joffrey, but little of Ned.

Arthur was still against seeking out her brother, whom he deeply mistrusted.

She understood why, but at times she longed for the touch of snow on her cheeks or the smell of the weirwood trees.

_Home,_ she called this small house, but it didn’t feel like home to her.

Only when she heard her boy’s bright laughter ringing in her ears did she feel a semblance of satisfaction.

“Stop hitting the wall, lad!” Ser Oswell’s grumbling voice called her boy to attention. “Or that nasty neighbor of us might send a handful of cutthroats after us!”

Lyanna, who was seated next to the open cookfire to stir the flames for the cakes she and Yang had worked on, couldn’t help but to laugh when she saw her boy’s expression of disbelief.

“You really think he would do that?”

“Sure,” Ser Oswell replied in a serious tone and continued to work on his wooden cup. She knew he was only jesting, but children were ready to believe anything grown-ups told them. “Now sit down and be at peace. Have you no letters to practice?”

Her boy frowned.

“Letters are boring! I want to be a knight not a merchant!”

“Pfft!” Oswell snorted, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Even a knight needs to know his letters. Besides, you are not a going to be a common knight, lad. You know what you _must_ become once you are all grown up.”

“I know,” he mumbled to himself. Then he stuck the wooden sword into moody path leading through the inner courtyard and discarded his shield, before taking a seat beside Ser Oswell.

“What are you making?” he asked curiously and watched him work. “Will you tell me?”

“It’s a spoon,” Ser Oswell replied jestingly and held up the half-finished cup. “What do you think?”

Her boy furrowed his brows. “It looks like a cup.”

Oswell roared with laughter and patted her boy’s head as if he was a pet.

“A cup it is.”

Her boy’s frown intensified only more.

“Must you always vex me so, Ser Oswell?” he asked.

“No, but you make it so easy, lad,” Oswell added and patted his head again.

Her boy murmured something to himself and pushed the knight’s hand away, before making his way over to Lyanna, who had by now placed the small cakes filled with bacon and cheese on a flat pan while Yang was stirring the flames.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” she chided her boy when she saw him stretch out his hand. “It’s not finished and I first want you to wash the grime from your hands.”

“Very well, mother,” came the unhappy answer and a moment later her boy disappeared inside the house to wash himself.

Lyanna felt her mouth water when she laid eyes on the fresh cakes. It made her think of Old Nan’s heavenly cakes and how much she missed them, but all these thoughts were suddenly forgotten when her boy stormed back into the courtyard.

“Uncle Arthur is back!”

Lyanna had barely turned her head when she found Ser Arthur’s familiar sun-kissed face poking through the door.

He hadn’t changed much over the last years. He was still the tall young man that had kept her company while she was residing in the Tower of Joy, though his pale silver hair made his violet eyes appear darker than they really were.

Not even his constant struggles as a sellsword seemed to affect him. On the contrary, within four years he had managed to become a captain of the Second Sons and had helped turn the undisciplined brood of thieves and pickpockets into an admirable fighting force, though his actions had also brought him enemies, among them a certain Mero who had found his throat cut open after he had tried to murder Arthur in his sleep.

“Arthur,” she greeted him with an affectionate smile, allowing Yang to tend to the flames. “What a wonderful surprise!”

“Indeed,” Ser Oswell added in usual gruff tone. “You told me the campaign was meant to last six moons and yet you are here. Did all of your sellsword friends get killed?”

“The campaign ended sooner than expected,” Arthur replied and pulled his cloak from his shoulders, before sitting down on one of the wooden stools placed near the table on which Lyanna had laid out three plates. “And I bring good tidings.”

“From home?” Lyanna asked hopeful, but Arthur shook his head.

“Not from home…much closer,” Arthur explained and smiled when her boy crawled into his lap. He knew that Arthur wasn’t his true father, but it was better than nothing. “A reliable source told me that Ser William is hiding in Tyrosh.”

“Tyrosh?” Oswell asked, his voice laced with skepticism. “And the Prince and the Princess? Did you hear about them?”

“They are alive,” Arthur confirmed. “But it seems the Usurper has offered a hefty sum for their heads. We should hurry.”

“And do what?” Oswell asked. “Reveal the boy’s identity? Robert Baratheon wouldn’t hunt us through half of Essos if he knew about the boy’s existence. Better would be to stay here and bide our time.”

Lyanna understood Ser Oswell’s fears, but she owed it to Rhaegar to keep his brother and sister safe.

“Arthur is right,” she told Ser Oswell and smiled at her boy, who had been listening to their conversation with great curiosity. “It is about time my son meets his Uncle and Aunt.”

“And I say it is madness to risk the boy’s life,” Oswell grumbled.

“The Usurper cannot be allowed to harm my kin,” her boy announced and straightened himself as he came to stand before Ser Oswell. “And you gave your oath to save House Targaryen. You must obey me.”

“I must protect you, your Grace,” Ser Oswell confirmed. “And that means keeping you from doing something foolish.”

“It is what our Prince would have expected of us,” Arthur added his voice and searched Ser Oswell’s gaze. “Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys need our protection.”

“I know that,” Ser Oswell admitted and shrugged his shoulders. “But by joining them we would blow our cover.”

“Not if they ‘die’,” Ser Arthur returned with a mischievous smile. “To fool the Usurper’s spies.”

…

The strangers arrived barely a moon after Ser William had fallen ill. At first, Viserys didn’t recognize the men, but by now he knew who they were.

These men had once served his brother Rhaegar. One of them was Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning and the other man was Ser Oswell Whent, another member of the Kingsguard.

He had wanted to shout at them for hiding away for so long, but the servants had ushered him and his little sister Daenerys out of the solar and back to their chambers.

“Do you know these strange men?” Dany asked curiously as she crawled into his lap. She was a small thing with large purple eyes and fine silver hair.

“I do know them,” Viserys replied and brushed her silver hair out of her face. It felt so soft, almost like silk. It made him think of his mother who had died birthing his little sister.

At times he hated her for it and at other times he just wanted to weep.

Now was such a moment.

_You are the blood of the dragon_ , he reminded himself and averted his gaze. _You cannot show weakness._

His mother had told him so before she had left this world.

“We cannot trust them,” Viserys replied. “They could be traitors…They Ser Barristan joined the Usurper. Who says they didn’t do the same?”

Dany shuddered in his embrace. For her the Usurper was a fearful demon out of a gruesome fairy tale, which made him even more frightening to a little girl like her.

Even Viserys was afraid of him, though he would never admit it openly.

_Even Rhaegar couldn’t defeat him. We must be careful._

“Then, what are we going to do?”

“Nothing,” Viserys replied. “For now we are going to bide our time and observe them. That is why I want you to be obedient and kind to them. Do you understand?”

Dany smiled and nodded her head in agreement. “I understand.”

The sun was casting long shadows over the inner courtyard when one of the servant girls came to call them back into the solar.

Surprisingly, Ser William had left his bed and was seated at the table, decked with black bread, olives, cheese and wine.

Across the table sat Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Arthur Dayne. And two strangers.

There was a young woman and a young boy seated in her lap. From the side she had made the impression of a mischievous boy, but when he laid eyes on her revealing summer dress he knew that she was in fact a woman.

The boy had turned his head when Viserys and Dany had entered the solar.

The resemblance to the woman was unmistakable. They shared the same brown hair and longish face, but when Viserys laid eyes on the boy’s eyes he froze.

At the first glance they looked dark grey, but when the light fell upon them they changed to an indigo color, his brother’s eye color.

The boy smiled at Viserys.

“Are you my Uncle?”

Viserys froze in shock, his mind a storm of confusion. The boy looked like the woman, but somehow he had his brother’s eyes and smile.

How was that possible? And why did the foolish boy call him Uncle?

“You are an odd boy,” Dany chuckled and pointed at the smiling boy and his mother. “Is that your mother?”

“Aye,” the boy confirmed without hesitation. “That is my mother. She was wed to your brother Rhaegar, my father.”

The Lady smiled kindly. “I am Lady Lyanna Stark. Well met, Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys.”

Viserys couldn’t believe his ears and shifted his attention to Darry.

The old knight looked like a dead man walking, but graced him with a calming smile.

“It is no lie, my Prince,” Ser William told him and waved his hand at the boy. “Ser Arthur Dayne is a man of honor. He wouldn’t lie to us. This boy is Prince Aemon Targaryen…your brother’s son by Lady Lyanna Stark and _our_ King.”

“King!” Viserys repeated in disbelief. “I am the King! Mother said so! She crowned me!”

“Your mother wasn’t aware…,” Ser Darry began, but Viserys cut him off, his rage getting the better of him.

“Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell have been hiding away all these years. Why should we believe them? And this boy…this mongrel cannot be _our_ King!”

“Enough,” Ser William replied sternly. “Your brother’s son is no mongrel and a Prince shouldn’t act in such disgraceful manner. Apologize at once or you will have no supper.”

Viserys clenched his teeth in defiance, but he knew that the old knight always kept his word.

If he refused he would receive no supper. That was sure.

And he couldn’t allow these strangers to see him humiliated.

“I apologize,” he replied and swept his gaze once more over the strangers. “Forgive my harsh words, nephew.”

“Still, I wonder why you have been hiding all these years, Ser Arthur?” he asked his brother’s most loyal companion. When he was a little boy Viserys had often played with him, but that felt almost like a lifetime ago. He was no longer the little boy running about in the Red Keep, but a King without a kingdom.

“We were searching for you, my Prince,” Ser Arthur replied, his voice filled with regret. He sounded honest, but it was hard for Viserys to trust him. “And we came to warn you about the Usurper’s plans. He has offered a hefty sum for your and your sister’s head. We also had to think about your nephew’s safety. The Usurper is not aware of his existence and it would be better if it stayed that way.”

“And yet you are here,” Viserys replied mistrustfully. “What do you want with us?”

“To take you away, my Prince,” Ser William explained and took a sip from his wine, but one of his regular coughing fits made it impossible. Shaking, he placed the cup back on the table and waited until the coughing had finally subsided. Smiling, he leaned on the table in front of him. “I will soon leave this world and it is no longer safe for you here. Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell will protect you, my dear children.”

Viserys couldn’t believe his ears. Ser William had gone mad.

“They are not here to protect me!” he protested. “They are here to take my crown!”

“Your crown rests atop Robert Baratheon’s head, my Prince,” Lady Lyanna added cautiously. “To re-take it you will need help and an army, but you are yet so young. You won’t be able to do it unless you are a bit older. And what Ser Darry said are not my thoughts. It is true that Aemon is your brother’s son, but I do not mind yielding the crown to you if that means I can go home. I did not come here to quarrel over claims and crowns, but to give my son a family.”

What the Lady had said was reasonable enough, but Viserys didn’t know if he could trust her.

Yet, when he laid eyes on Dany he knew that it was their only chance for survival.

Darry was their only protector. If he dies they will be all alone in the world.

They had need of protectors like Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell.

For Dany’s sake he would have to tolerate this boy and his new good-sister.

“What are your plans, Ser Arthur?”

The young man graced him with a sad smile.

“That you and your sister must die.”

…

A moon later, Ser William died in his sleep and the time for their departure came. On the next day they had brought him to the Temple of Light where the Red Priestesses had prepared his body for his funeral pyre.

Viserys had tried to keep his composure, but when Dany started to weep Viserys couldn’t help but to do the same, though he did it with clenched teeth and claimed that it was the smoke that had caused his tears after his insufferable nephew had inquired about his sadness.

The same night they had burned their small house with the red door and the lemon tree that had been planted by the previous owner.

Seeing the tree burn, Dany wept again, but Viserys felt strangely calm.

Fire had always had a calming effect on him and reminded him of his father.

He missed him terribly and his brother Rhaegar, but most of the time he missed his mother.

_I shall survive_ , he promised as he watched the flames devour the building. Inside they had placed Ser Williams’s corpse and two more corpses Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell had managed to acquire for a handful of silvers. It were two beggar children who had perished from the pox and were part of Ser Arthur’s mummery.

“If all goes well the Usurper will soon hear about your death, my Prince,” Ser Oswell remarked with a hint of mockery on his lips. “I wonder if he will celebrate a grand tourney. Ser Gerold told us that the Usurper is fond of wasting away your kingly father’s gold.”

_Not for long_ , he murmured to himself and watched the flames grow taller and taller. _In a few years from now the Usurper will be dead and gone._

These thoughts only helped to strengthen his resolve.

_If I look back I am lost._

…


	6. Discord

Dany could barely keep pace with her nephew, her heart pounding wildly as he pulled her into the chamber that belonged to her brother Viserys. He had left recently to accompany Ser Oswell to the market.

“It is over there in the box,” Dany explained and pointed at the box made of pale wood, polished like marble. On the surface curled sea dragons and it was locked with a golden key her brother Viserys kept beneath his pillow. “But we will need the key for that.”

Smiling, she retrieved the key from beneath the pillow and showed it to her nephew.

His long solemn face lightened up immediately and he picked the key from her hand. “Perfect.”

Carefully, he opened the box to make space for Dany. She found the treasure at once, wrapped in a crimson silk cloth.

“Here,” she said and knelt on the carpet where she unwrapped the cloth. “Here it is.”

Her nephew’s smile only intensified when he laid eyes on the beautiful silver band that was embellished with numerous gleaming rubies.

Her nephew touched his hand over the rubies, a sad smile curling on his lips.

“My mother told me that my father’s armour was embellished with these rubies. They supposedly ended up in the river Trident. I wish I had one to remember my father.”

Hearing that made Dany sad. She only knew her brother from Viserys’ stories and she didn’t dare to ask Aemon’s mother about him. That would make Viserys angry and she didn’t want to wake the dragon.

“If you are King you could take one from the crown. I doubt my Lady Mother would have minded.”

“No,” Aemon said softly and picked the crown from the ground, before placing the crown atop Dany’s silver curls. “This crown is meant for a girl.”

Dany didn’t dare to agree and glanced at the door. To say such things would displease Viserys. Quickly, she pulled the crown from her head and placed it back on the ground.

“My brother says I don’t deserve it, because I killed my Lady Mother.”

Aemon looked shocked.

“Didn’t she die in childbirth?”

“She did,” Dany confirmed. “I killed her.”

Within the blink of a moment her nephew’s calm face had changed to a grimace of rage.

“That’s utter bullshit!” he told her and grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “And you shouldn’t listen to the nonsense Viserys is sprouting all day long.”

“Viserys is older,” she countered. “He knows more than me.”

“But that doesn’t make him wise,” Aemon replied and wrapped the crown in the silken cloth, before placing it back in the box. He locked the box and handed the key back to Dany, who placed it back where she had taken it from. “You are not at fault for what happened to your mother. ‘Births are never easy or so I heard my mother say.”

Dany was hesitant to believe him. She had only known him for barely a year and Viserys she had known her entire life. Her brother loved her, so much she knew, despite his recurring anger tantrums.

“There you are,” Lady Lyanna, her good-sister, greeted her from her place beside the cookfire. She was garbed in a knee-length tunic, her wavy brown hair curling to her shoulders. It was sweaty and her cheeks were deeply flushed, which meant she had been training with one of the guardsmen.

Yang, who was their teacher, was also there seated beside the window. She was mending clothing, a cup of steaming tea placed beside her.

“What have you been doing?” Lady Lyanna asked and brushed her hand through her hair as she turned to look at Dany and Aemon.

“Dany showed me her mother’s crown,” Aemon explained without hesitation and sought his mother’s embrace, nuzzling his body against her. Lady Lyanna smiled warmly and placed a kiss atop his head, before she searched Dany’s face.

“Truly? Well, that must be a beautiful crown.”

Dany’s heart skipped a beat and her mouth opened before reason could keep her back.

“Did you know my mother?”

Lady Lyanna’s face fell and she patted the carpet next to her. “Sadly not, but your brother Rhaegar told me about her. He told me that she was beautiful and kind. She also liked to sing and thought him how to play the harp.”

Dany had listened eagerly and sat down, pulling her knees up to her chest.

“Truly, I didn’t know that my brother played the harp.”

Surprise showed on Lady Lyanna’s face.

“Your brother didn’t tell you?”

“He said that Rhaegar was good at killing, but he never told me that he knew how to play the harp. Was he good?”

A sad smile washed over Lady Lyanna’s face.

“Very good.”

Dany wished she could hear her brother play, but he was dead and gone.

“You know, you could learn the harp,” Lady Lyanna suggested to Dany and jerked her head at Yang. “You know how to play, don’t you?”

Yang smiled sweetly and dipped her head. “I do, mistress.”

Dany’s heart soared. “Well, then I shall learn.”

“Good to hear,” Lyanna added cheerfully and ruffled her son’s hair. “Someone needs to keep up the family tradition. Sadly my son has not the voice for it.”

“I rather learn swordplay,” Aemon added with a frown. “But I would like to hear you play, Dany.”

Dany opened her mouth to answer, but the sound of the old croaking door caused her to turn around.

She expected Ser Oswell, but found to her delight Ser Arthur and a stranger entering the room.

He was tall, long-faced and had the same hair color as her nephew.

_Who is he_ , Dany wondered and received her answer promptly when Lady Lyanna jumped into the man’s arms and buried her face in his neck.

“Benjen! Oh, Benjen!”

…

Lyanna marbled about Benjen’s change. In her heart she had kept the memory of the mischievous boy that had grown up with her and had dreamed of becoming a knight.

His face was still long, but much sharper and dark stubble graced his chin. His dark brown hair was also much longer and his dark-blue eyes were filled with a sadness she hadn’t seen before.

_He must hate me_ , she thought, though he had not voiced any such thoughts in her presence. _Without my foolishness behavior Bran and father would still be alive. Rhaegar as well and his wife and children…_

“So, you are a sellsword like Uncle Arthur?” her son asked eagerly, his bowl of stew still untouched. “How did you find him?”

Benjen swallowed down a mouthful of food and gave her boy a warm smile, before he explained.

“It wasn’t easy, but I knew what I was searching for…a masterless swordsman. Well, your Ser Arthur’s reputation helped or should I call you Symon Snowlock, good Ser?”

Arthur gave a tense smile. It was not hard to see that he mistrusted Benjen’s presence here, but even so he had brought him here. That meant everything to her.

“Its because of my silver locks,” he explained and took a bite from his bread., chewing quickly, before continuing with his explanation. “Your nephew gave me this name, Lord Benjen.”

“A fitting name,” Benjen told her son, who smiled proudly. “A very fitting name.”

“But it didn’t serve its purpose,” Oswell grumbled, who had listened to their conversation from his seat beside the window. “Lord Benjen is here, something that shouldn’t have happened.”

Then, he shifted his attention to Benjen and brushed his hand over the hilt of his sword. It was a warning. Ser Oswell was fond of those, but Lyanna didn’t like his hostility. This was her sweet brother Benjen. He wouldn’t endanger her. There was no one in the world she trusted more than him.

“Benjen is welcome here,” Lyanna countered coldly. “He has a right to see his nephew.”

“The boy is not only his nephew,” Oswell grunted. “He is our King and if the Usurper finds out about him he will hunt us throughout all of Essos until he has killed him too. Your brother, Lord Eddard, is one of his most important supporters. That is why I mistrust, Lord Benjen. Why come now after seven years when he could have come much earlier?”

“A good question,” her son added, but not in a threatening voice. He sounded simply curious. “Why did you wait so long, Uncle?”

“That I can answer,” Benjen said and smiled sadly. “I was serving as a squire for Lord Manderly. Once, I was knighted I came to find you.”

Then, he angled his head to look at Ser Oswell. “And to ward of the accusations put against me. I am here against my brother’s will. He forbade me to go. I do not know what my brother will do if I return.”

Lyanna was shaken to hear this. She couldn’t imagine Ned threatening one of his own blood…

“Ned,” Lyanna repeated. “Does he hate me so?”

Benjen shook his head and placed his bowl on the ground. “He doesn’t hate you, Lya, but he fears for his family. Imagine what Robert Baratheon would do if he found out that Ned lied to him. He is not exactly the forgiving kind of man.”

“Understandable,” Oswell added. “But our King is his nephew…his blood. Tell me, Benjen Stark. Would he take arms against his own nephew?”

“Never…,” Lyanna was about to protest, but when she saw the grave expression on Benjen Stark’s face she knew something was wrong.

“What happened?” her son asked Benjen, observant as ever. “What did my Uncle do?”

“He agreed to a betrothal between his daughter Sansa and Robert’s oldest son, Joffrey.”

Lyanna was taken back by his words and her son frown was telling enough.

“Joffrey,” her son repeated. “What a stupid name for a Prince.”

“Aemon!” Lyanna chided him for his words. “He is just a boy. I hold no love for Robert, but we won’t harm his children, will we?”

Arthur’s and Oswell’s silence was telling.

“Your Grace…,” Oswell began, but Lyanna had heard enough and stormed up the stairs leading to her chambers. She had enough of these titles and these plots. She had loved Rhaegar, but she had never planned for her son to be a King. She had only wanted to be free from Robert and Rhaegar had promised her this freedom. Yet, that wasn’t worth fighting her own blood…

On the way, she spotted Princess Daenerys, who was poking her head out of the door.

Lyanna smiled at her encouragingly. “Our private talk is over. You and your brother may join the others. Supper is still warm.”

The girl gave her a concerned look.

“Did something happen?”

“Oh, no,” Lyanna assured her. “All is well. I am just tired.”

Once, she had entered her chamber she lit the oil lamp and started to write, yet no proper sentence found its way on the paper. She had wanted to tell Benjen to go home and give Ned this letter, but she knew what a folly that was.

Sighing deeply, she put the pen and paper away. Everything felt just so confusing. She longed for home, but she also wanted to see her son safe. And it was not untrue what Arthur and Oswell had said. Ned had always loved Robert. Lyanna and Ned had been practically strangers when they had met again during her only visit to the Eyrie. Not long after Ned and her father had informed her about her betrothal to Robert, a dear friend of her brother. Lyanna had been confused. She had expected to wed a Lord of the North, but Ned had assured her that he would be a good husband for her. They had spent a week at the Eyrie and after she had found out about Robert’s indulgence in women, she had realized that his love wasn’t as true as Ned believed. She had even brought up the little bastard girl that had been born to Robert, but Ned hadn’t understood. He had remained insistent on Robert’s good character and that he would change once she came into his life. Then, came Harrenhall and Lyanna had tried to give Robert another chance, which he had wasted again. On the first day, and all the following days he had been horridly drunk and had spent more time bragging about his accomplishment that speak a full sentence to her. It was then that she had realized that he knew nothing of her, beyond what Ned had told him. He wanted a pretty lady who birthed his heirs and fawned over him day and night. Not a stubborn lady from the North who knew nothing about being a lady from the south.”

Not long after, she had met Rhaegar, who had taken his time to get to know her and had promised her the freedom she had always craved, the freedom to pursue her dream of becoming a knight.

It had been a foolish idea, but she had been half a child and the marriage to Robert had scared her. She had feared of being trapped in Storm’s End until her hair grew grey…

“Lady Lyanna,” Arthur’s voice roused her out of her thoughts. “Are you well?”

Lyanna felt the urge to send him away, but he had called her Lyanna. It meant that he was willing to speak like a normal person to her.

“Come in.”

“My Lady,” he said softly after he had entered her chamber. “May I speak openly?”

Lyanna averted her gaze and remained seated on the floor. “Speak your mind.”

“I know how you must feel, my Lady,” he said. “I also miss my home, but for the boy’s sake we must endure. I cannot promise this, but I won’t harm your brother unless it is it is necessary. Think of Rhaegar and the love you bore him. The boy is his heir.”

“I know what he is,” Lyanna scoffed. “But you know that was not what Rhaegar intended.”

“The Promised Prince,” Arthur repeated. “Another one of his follies, but he was my friend and he had been instilled to believe in these follies since he was a young boy. The Tragedy of Summerhall had grieved him deeply, so much that he wanted to make his family’s sacrifice count. At least, that is what he told me. Even so, he loved you dearly and he would have loved the boy as much as his other children. He was a good man and I loved him just as much as you did. And that is why I must kill the Usurper or at least help your boy do it. To redeem myself and Rhaegar.”

Lyanna’s eyes burned with tears as she lifted her gaze to look at Arthur.

“You want to take him away, don’t you?”

Arthur nodded his head in confirmation.

“The boy needs to see a battlefield. I will take him as my squire.”

Lyanna’s heart ached at the thought of leaving her son in the hands of sellswords.

“When?”

“Not yet,” Arthur assured her warmly. “But in a few years from now. I also have to leave soon. On the morrow would be best.”

Lyanna wanted to command him to stay, but he couldn’t risk his position among the Second Sons. Her son would have need of them in the future.

“And Benjen?”

“Will come with me.”

Lyanna accepted this as well, but even so her tears came when she took her leave from her brother on the next day.

“Lya,” Benjen chuckled and tried to free himself from her tight embrace. “You are strangling me!”

“Better than to see you go again, brother,” Lyanna replied and let go of him. “Promise me that you will come back.”

Benjen leaned closer and kissed her cheek.

“I promise.”

_…_

Viserys observed with contempt as his little sister chopped vegetables in company of their brother’s whore and their nephew.

Dany even giggled after she had cut her finger with the small knife she was using to peel the potatoes.

“You have to be careful, sweeting,” their brother’s whore chided his sister and dipped a clean cloth into the cup of water she always kept near the hearth. “It needs to be cleaned properly.”

“I need no water,” his little sister replied and simply put her finger in her mouth, sucking away the blood as if she was some commoner on the street. “It doesn’t even hurt.”

When the bleeding had stopped she picked up the half-peeled potato and the knife. “Will you show me again?”

“Of course, sweetling,” their brother’s whore replied with a smile and showed his sister how to peel the potato.

Viserys felt rage surging through his guts as he watched how their brother’s whore continued to dishonor not only his sister, but also herself.

Her brother had made her his second wife, but she was acting as if she was a peasant. His Lady Mother would have never lowered herself to such tasks and neither should his sister.

Yet, there was nothing he could do as Ser Oswell was watching over them.

“See you can do it, Dany,” his nephew exclaimed happily and even applauded after his sister had managed to peel a single potato. The boy himself had peeled a good dozen of potatoes and another dozens of carrots meant to be put into the stew his brother’s whore and her new servant girl had been working on all morning.

The fact, that Ser Arthur believed this potato-cutting boy could be a King was laughable.

He didn’t even look like one of them. He lacked both silver hair and purple eyes.

He was more a wolf than a dragon, yet his sister had immediately liked him. Day and night, they were running about, playing silly games and spending their time in company of their brother’s whore.

A week ago, the bastard had even taken his sister outside to play with the neighbor children, all of them dirty peasants and some of them even house slaves, judging by the colorful tattoos on their necks.

Viserys had been so disgusted that he had washed Dany himself. He couldn’t allow his sister to dirty herself with this slave scum. He owed so much to his Lady Mother.

No longer being able to listen to their ear-bleeding giggling he retreated back to his chamber. As always, he took a seat on the windowsill and watched the bustling street below.

Volantis was beautiful city and to most the heat was unbearable, but not to Viserys. He was a dragon and a true dragon craved the heat.

He could only scoff whenever he saw sweat covering Ser Oswell’s brow.

Their brother’s whore was much the same, but her son didn’t seem to care. He defied the heat by bathing in the fountains down the street as did the numerous other children of this steaming city. Dany had dared to join him once, but after Viserys had given her a long scolding she had never done it again.

“Brother,” his sister’s soft-spoken voice snapped him back to the present. “Brother!”

Viserys lifted his head and found his sister entering his chamber. She was now seven years old and had their mother’s face.

She smiled brightly as she showed him the bowl with steaming stew.

It smelled good, so much was true, but Viserys couldn’t help but to scoff.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Your supper,” his sister replied, her smile immediately banished from her lips. She was always quick to read his moods and mostly adapted to them, but recently his nephew had started putting silly ideas into her mind. “Are you not hungry?”

“I have no need for this food,” Viserys declared proudly. His stomach was empty, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat this food. “You are a Princess of House Targaryen, not a kitchen maid. Let the servant girl and our brother’s whore do the work.”

Anger showed in his sister’s violet eyes as she placed the bowl on the table next to the bed.

“You are being stupid,” his sister replied brazenly. “Eat or leave it be. I don’t care.”

Her daring comment woke his rage. Unable to hold himself back he jumped to his feet and pushed the bowl from the table.

The bowel broke into a thousand pieces and the food was splattered over the stone floor.

“Why did you do that?” his sister dared to ask, but Viserys had seen enough of her disobedience and grabbed her hand, pulling hard to force her to look at him.

“Because you woke the dragon!” he raged and pulled her closer. “How dare you talk back? Do you know who I am?”

His sister’s eyes were wide with fear, but there was a hint of defiance visible in her bearing. That hadn’t been there before. That had only changed after their brother’s whore and his nephew had come into their life.

It was time to change that.

“You are my brother.”

The answer was wrong and he made her pay for it by slapping her on the cheek.

She gritted her teeth and tears shone in her eyes when he was done, but this time she gave the proper answer.

“You are our rightful King.”

“Good to hear,” he replied with satisfaction and let go of her. “Now wash up my chamber and leave me.”

His sister did as he had asked and spoke no more. He had no doubt that this was enough to frighten her into silence.

She wouldn’t dare to tell Oswell. She was smart enough to not wake the dragon again.

…

On the next day, his brother’s whore and his sister had left to visit the market, leaving him, Ser Oswell and his nephew behind.

As always, around midday Ser Oswell was training his nephew with sword and shield.

It was always amusing to behold when the boy landed on his ass. That made him almost like Ser Oswell, the dirty traitor that was supposed to serve him, his rightful King.

Getting bored, he made his way downstairs and searched for the dimwitted servant girl, his brother’s whore had found on the street.

She was as stupid as a spoon, but quite beautiful. A moon ago, Viserys had first taken her to bed and ever since he sought her out when he was bored.

He found the girl polishing cups when he entered her small chamber. Only dressed in a green shift it didn’t take long before he had her undressed and was thrusting away.

As always, the girl made no sound and even smiled at him after she had dressed. Viserys wished all people were like her; obedient and always smiling at him.

“I am hungry,” he told her and she nodded her head in understanding.

Not long after, she brought him dark bread, olives and a cup of milk.

Viserys had wanted wine, but it was better than nothing.

He ate greedily for he hadn’t eaten anything since last night.

Once, he had finished his midday meal, he went out to the inner courtyard and started washing himself.

It was lukewarm, but better than nothing.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of footsteps on the ground and turned around.

It surprised him when he found his nephew standing there.

“What do you want?” Viserys asked. If the foolish boy thought he could intimidate him he was dead wrong.

Yet, the little bastard didn’t answer. Instead he had remained silent and had stormed towards him, fist raised.

Viserys had been unable react in time, before his nephew’s fist had collided with his nose. The pain was sharp and blinding and not long after he felt the taste of iron on his mouth.

He could only whimper in pain when the boy kicked him in the groin and pulled him to the ground, placing himself atop of Viserys.

“You dare to hit me? You little bastard!” he raged and tried pull him from his body, but he was faster and was suddenly holding a knife to his neck. In that moment Viserys’ voice faltered and he stopped moving, despite the pain on his face and between his legs.

“Why did you hit her?” the boy demanded to know, his dark eyes piercing into his.

Viserys was confused.

“Who are you talking about?” he asked and the boy kicked him hard, making him whimper in pain.

“You know who I am talking about!” he snapped back, the blade dangerously close to Viserys’ neck. “I ask you again. Why did you hit your own sister?”

“Because she was acting like a commoner,” he explained, half in fear and half in pain. “A Princess has no business peeling potatoes.”

Angrily, the boy kicked him again and cut lightly into his flesh.

“I should peel your face with this blade,” the boy threatened him and rose back to his feet. “But I am no Kinslayer.”

“You are pathetic, Uncle,” the boy snapped coldly and spat on him. “And nobody will follow you if you act like that.”

Then, he turned on his heel and left Viserys to wallow in his defeat.

…

Not long after, Ser Oswell found Viserys and was forced to call upon a healer to treat his bleeding nose. He was only glad that his brother’s whore wasn’t there as well. She would have raged.

“What happened?” Oswell demanded to know again.

“My nephew attacked me,” he replied angrily. “He is a wild little beast.”

“Why?” Ser Oswell. “Why did he do it?”

“How should I know,” Viserys shrugged his shoulders and was about to leave, but Oswell stopped him.

“You are going to help me search for him.”

Viserys was stunned by his request.

“Me?”

“Aye, you.”

“But I am hurt.”

“You will come or you will sleep with the chickens.”

“I am your King,” Viserys was about to say, but Ser Oswell’s cold gaze silenced him at once.

“You will help me or sleep with the chickens,” Ser Oswell repeated and pulled him along.

Thus, they searched for the boy and eventually found him with one of the neighbor children.

“There you are, boy.” Ser Oswell remarked with obvious relief. “Why are you hiding here?”

“I am not hiding,” the boy insisted stubbornly. “I just didn’t want to see his stupid face!”

“Why did you attack him?” Oswell demanded impatiently, his face deeply flushed from the heat.

“Because he hit Dany,” the boy replied and averted his gaze. Viserys felt anger rising up inside him. His treacherous little sister had betrayed his secret. She is going to pay for that. “I only gave him a taste of his own medicine.”

“I see,” Oswell remarked and shifted his attention to Viserys. “Well, that was strong medicine and cost us a nearly eight silver coins. I understand your reasoning, my boy, but both of you will receive an appropriate punishment. You two need to get along.”

Viserys was taken back by Ser Oswell’s words.

“Punishment?” Viserys asked. “Why do I get punished? It was him who nearly broke my nose.”

“Your nephew only did what I would have done as well,” Ser Oswell grumbled. “And now move! We are going home! I am sick and tired of this nonsense!”

…

Ser Oswell kept his promise.

That night Viserys and his nephew were forced to sleep on the hard ground and starting from the next day Oswell had them do all the housework.

They had to carry the water, scrub the floors and peel the potatoes while his brother’s whore and his sister were allowed to be lazy.

Viserys made his displeasure known, but his nephew accepted his fate with grim determination.

By the end of the second week, Viserys was about to go mad and told Oswell that he was not going to do this anymore.

Oswell didn’t care and had him sleep with the chickens. That was the first time he had seen the traitor smile.

“Are you really such a fool or are you playing one?” his nephew asked him the same night. “Why not see reason and admit to your mistake?”

Of course, his nephew wouldn’t understand. He was no real dragon and he would never know what it mean to be one.

“I am a King. People ought to respect me.”

“Respect needs to be earned,” the boy scoffed and crossed his arms in front of him. “And so far you haven’t done anything impressive other than to hit little girls. Oh, what a grand accomplishment that was! I am sure the Usurper is going to piss himself when Viserys the girl-hitter comes for him!”

“I hit my sister, because she needs to learn her place.”

“And I hit you for the same reason,” the boy replied and gave him a twisted smile. “But instead of wasting your time with hitting little girls you could actually do something useful. How about training with me and Oswell?”

Viserys was stunned by the offer.

“You want me to train swordplay with you?”

“Aye,” the boy confirmed. “Or is our great King pissing himself in fear?”

Viserys wanted to refuse, but he was too proud to admit to his weakness. Swordplay had never come naturally to him.

“I am not afraid. I shall join you on the morrow.”

His nephew seemed satisfied with his answer.

“I shall be pleased to have you there, Uncle.”

…


	7. Mummers

Aemon brushed the sweat from his brow and allowed his shield to slip unto the ground. Then he stuck his practice blade into the soft earth and pulled his helmet from his head. His long brown hair spilled into his face and he quickly brushed it aside, gracing Ser Oswell with a hesitant smile.

He hadn’t lost his blade this time and didn’t even land on his ass. It was a huge improvement and he was quit happy with his performance. Ser Oswell seemed just as satisfied, though it would be foolish to expect a smile from the grim knight. At times, Aemon even wondered if the old knight’s face would crack if he tried to smile.

“Stop smiling, boy,” he grunted like always. “You stance still needs improvement and you still have that nasty habit of lowering your shield. If that was a real fight I could have easily cut off your head.”

“As you say, Ser Oswell,” Aemon replied obediently. It would be no use to protest. “I shall head your advice.”

“Good to hear,” Oswell grunted and pointed at the discarded shield and practice blade. “Now pack up your weapons and clean them properly. You know how it goes.”

Aemon nodded his head and turned to look at Viserys who was seated on a wooden bank beneath the shady mulberry tree that had been planted by the previous owner. His shield lay beside his feet and his blade was leaning against his thigh. He looked exhausted, his face deeply blushed and his silver hair sweaty. Six moons had passed since he had started his training, but he had yet to show improvement. Swordplay didn’t come easy to his Uncle and that angered him often, but at least he was now unleashing his anger on the practice yard and no longer at the servants or his sister. Aemon had received a hefty scolding from his mother for attacking Viserys, though she had told him that she didn’t per se disapprove of his reasons.

_Viserys deserved punishment, but you are still a child. Leave it to Ser Oswell to dispense justice._

Aemon knew that she was right. He was only a child, yet one that he ought to be come a King and wasn’t what he had done not what Kings were supposed to do? It wasn’t like he had wanted to kill his Uncle. He had just wanted to frighten him a little, which had obviously worked for he had stopped attacking Dany or at least that is what she had told him.

And despite his flaws, his Uncle had done his best to keep up with their training. He had worked hard, though he still lacked the stamina to endure more than one or two rounds. Aemon didn’t think less of him because of that. He had felt much the same when he had first started training. By the end of the first moon, he had sported blue and red bruises and Yang had to prepare cooling pastes for him to ease the pain. His Lady Mother had applied them every day and in time the pain had faded.

 _His Uncle would see that soon_ , Aemon was sure and shifted his attention to his Lady Mother and Dany, who were seated beneath the wooden canopy that shielded them from the bright sun.

His Lady Mother had donned a grey tunic fastened with a leather belt, her slender blade resting against the crumbling wall. She trained every day, mostly with Zaal, one of the guardsmen that had been serving them since Aemon was a little boy. Whenever his Uncle Arthur and Uncle Benjen came to visit them she would practice with them as well, but she never did so with Ser Oswell, who seemed to think it inappropriate for girls to have swords.

As always, Yang was seated beside her and working on something. In the morning she had been sewing and now she was reading over the work she had given them the day before. This time they had been tasked to translate texts from High Valyrian into the Common Tongue. Aemon loved the history lessons the most, but he hated sums and translation work. It was tedious and boring, though so far he had always been able to complete his work.

Dany on the other hand liked this kind of work and had helped him out more than once when he had been too lazy to do it properly. Though not long after Viserys had sold him out to Yang and he had received double work for nearly a moon. Now he always did his work himself, but it was still tedious.

“How is the practice going?” Aemon asked Dany, who was brushing her fingers over the small wooden harp that had been gifted to her by his Lady Mother. “When will you be able to play the first song?”

Dany smiled and placed her harp on the ground beside her.

“I have been practicing only for a moon,” she chided him. “It is not that easy.”

Aemon nodded his head. He understood next to nothing about music, though he enjoyed listening to it, but she was practicing so often that he had assumed that she would soon be able to entertain them with songs. Maybe he was really a stupid child as Viserys liked to call him at times.

“Well, in time you will learn,” he assured her and made his way over to the round cistern in which they gathered the rainwater. He picked the rag from the ground and dipped it into the cool water. Aemon felt the urge to jump into the water, but the rainwater was meant for a different purpose; to water their orchard and vegetables. And now he was using it to clean his shield, practice blade and helmet.

It was a work he liked, but it was not much use. The weapons and the helmet looked used and ugly, so unlike the beautiful garb the knights of the songs wore. Aemon often dreamed of polished armor or the snow-white cloaks Ser Oswell and Ser Arthur had worn when they were still serving his grandfather King Aerys.

_Your father’s armor was most beautiful, as black as the night and embellished with a hundred gleaming rubies._

Aemon had tried to paint a picture of his father in his head, but he was only a phantom to him, a memory that his Lady Mother and Uncle kept locked deep in their hearts.

For Aemon he was still his father and a son ought to revenge his fathers. At least that is how it happens in the songs. The Usurper had stolen his father’s crown and that is why he needed to die. That was one of the few things he and Viserys agreed upon, but then there was also his Lady Mother’s family. The quarrels between his Lady Mother and Uncle Arthur hadn’t escaped him. She still loved her family and if Aemon were to claim the crown for his own he might be forced to fight against his own blood.

It was a thought he disliked, but then he also didn’t want to hide away for the rest of his life. He wanted to see this land Ser Oswell and Ser Arthur called their home.

“Little pup!” his Lady Mother’s soft voice called him back to the present. “Are you still there?”

Aemon Targaryen was his true name, but it was a name he was not allowed to use. Instead they called him Pup.

That was the sad truth, but he kept the resentment locked deep inside his heart. Unlike Viserys he wouldn’t unleash this resentment at the people around him, but the man that had murdered his father. The Usurper.

Robert Baratheon he was called, but Aemon couldn’t bring himself to call him anything but the Usurper. It made it easier to hate him, this man who allowed the man who had murdered his father’s wife and children to go free.

“Forgive me,” he replied and smiled at his Lady Mother. “But I was a bit lost to my thoughts.”

His Lady Mother chuckled, her dimples visible as she smiled. It made her looked older than she was.

“I could see that,” she said and put down her needlework. “It thought you wanted watch the parade?”

Aemon was stunned.

“The parade is today?”

“It is,” his Lady Mother explained and jerked her head at Ser Oswell, who had joined them in company of Viserys. “Ser Oswell told me that parade would be much earlier than expected. Today.”

Aemon frowned at that and turned around to look at Ser Oswell.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I wanted to keep you from going there, my boy,” Oswell admitted to his lie. “These parades are not a good place for people like you.”

“I still want to go,” Aemon demanded stubbornly. The parade and celebrations in honor of the yearly elections was something he had been looking forward for a long time. “The streets will be filled with a large crowd. We can easily mingle among the crowd.”

“I told you how stubborn my son can be, Ser Oswell,” his Lady Mother added with amusement. “And I think safety has little to do with it. I think you just do not want to spend all evening guarding ‘the dragon brood’.”

Ser Oswell’s frown was telling. He was a warrior and he was fond enough of ‘the dragon brood’ as he liked to refer to them, but it was quite clear that he was not the kind of man who liked to spend all day in company of children.

Aemon had even dared to ask him about it and he had only laughed.

_Why do you think did I join the Kingsguard, boy? I wanted to escape the chains of marriage._

Aemon had never imagined that ‘marriage’ could be a reason to join the Kingsguard, but then even his Lady Mother had chosen her father over another man she had been pledged to marry to. _The Usurper._

Aemon knew that he was supposed to marry a Princess or a Lady to regain the crown, but he doubted it could be as dreadful as Ser Oswell had described it.

“What if we promised to be good and obedient, good Ser?” Dany asked Oswell, pouting. She looked like a puppy and it seemed even the grim Ser Oswell couldn’t quite escape her charms.

“There is always chaos afoot with you lot,” he complained. He wasn’t wrong, but so far they had never done more than play some pranks on the peddlers down the street or get in a brawl with the children next door.

“I shall accompany you then,” Viserys declared proudly. “I shall keep them under control.”

Oswell sighed and shook his head, his dark eyes seeking his Lady Mother’s gaze.

“What does her Grace say?”

His Lady Mother gave Ser Oswell an amusing smile.

“Take them to the parade, but bring them back before sunset when the whoring and drinking starts.”

“But that is when the firework starts!” Aemon protested. “That’s the best part.”

“You can watch the firework from the roof top,” his Lady Mother countered. “Like you have done in the years before.”

Aemon was disappointed by her refusal, but then he also knew that it was no use to fight with his Lady Mother. He could be much more stubborn than him and might even forbid them to go.

“Very well,” Aemon relented. “We shall be back before sunset.”

“Sunset it is,” Oswell grunted. “But no moment later.”

Thus, after having had a small supper, he, Dany, Viserys and Zaal left to walk down to the main street on which part of the parade was supposed to pass by.

It was easily past the sixth hour. Aemon could see that by the way the sun was barely lurking over the colorful roof-tops of the city.

A bustling crowd had already assembled along the street. He spotted people of a all kinds of standings.

There was the smith that lived right down the street. A handful of pleasure girls that belonged to the Peacock, a pillow house that could be found two streets away from their home. Ser Oswell sometimes went there to keep the ladies company, which confused Aemon, because the old knight had told him that he had joined the Kingsguard to escape ‘marriage’, but even so he was keeping these ladies company. Aemon had asked Viserys about it, as he had more experience with girls, but he had only laughed and had told him only that a little boy like him was too young to think about such matters.

Aemon had accepted it, but it still didn’t make sense to him.

As they continued to walk down the street, they found a good dozen of peddlers selling their goods to the passing crowd. There was a man with a monkey-head selling roasted sausages. A pretty girl with pink cheeks selling sweets and tarts. A young boy cleaning boots with a rag. An elderly woman selling flower crowns. A man with pink hair and a strange twisted beard that sold beautiful ribbons that the girls of the city braided into their hairs. _It is a sign that a girl has flowered_ , Zaal had explained to him not long ago, but that answer had confused him even more. How could a girl flower? They were not plants, were they?

Aemon had also asked Ser Oswell about it, but he had looked so uncomfortable that he had never dared to ask him again.

Not long after, he spotted a band of mummers. They wore colorful cloaks and masks covered their faces as they hopped down the street and performed all kinds of tricks. One was a lion, one a monkey and another wore the mask of a bear.

A little girl on a chain walked behind their painted cart, collecting coin from the passing people. She looked thin and her clothing was ragged, but she was pretty enough that people took pity on her. Aemon certainly did and asked Ser Oswell if he could give her a bit of coin. He grunted his approval and Dany called the girl to their side. Aemon smiled at her as he put a silver coin in her bowl.

As always, Dany tried to strike up a conversation.

“What is your name?”

The girl’s dark eyes widened and she opened her mouth, revealing that she lacked a tongue.

Dany gasped and backed away and landed on her ass.

Viserys laughed.

“You are too soft-hearted, sweet sister,” he mocked her and pulled her back to her feet. “Someone born of dragonblood shouldn’t act this cowardly, even if you are just a little dragon.”

“Shut your bloody mouth, boy!” Oswell interrupted their meeting and hit Viserys over the head, before pulling them away from the mummers. “Why not send a raven to the Usurper and inform him about our existence?”

Viserys rubbed his head.

“The girl can’t even speak.”

“It was still plain stupid,” Oswell snapped and forced them to put distance between them and the mummers. Not long after, they found a shady spot beneath a large house with three iron towers. It was another of the many pillow houses of the city and the whores were lurking outside. They were all pretty girls ranging from age ten to twenty and soon they were laughing and waving their hands at them. Especially, Ser Oswell seemed to enchant the older girls while the younger ones were hovering around Viserys. Viserys’ behavior towards them reminded Aemon of their prideful rooster Twitchy Feet. He was strutting around and smiling like a fool whenever they were touching his shoulder.

Aemon avoided their presence. The strong smell of their perfume gave him a headache and he had come here to see the parade not to make friends with pillow girls.

By sunset, the first wagons and carts made their way down the street. Most of them belonged to younger men belonging to the lower nobility of the city, who were running for a seat in the Great Assembly that advised the three Triarchs ruling over the city. Their wagons were decorated with all kinds of flowers and some were made of gold or silver. Before or behind them walked a herald, giving their names and affliction to one of the two prominent parties ruling over the city: the elephants and the tigers. More and more wagons passed, it were the elephants he had wanted to see.

They were massive animals and wore beautiful armor. The slaves caring for them wore just as expensive clothing, but the most impressive were the men seated upon their backs. All of these men were Triarchs or men wishing to run for this office as only a man able to afford at least three elephants had enough coin to afford the expensive elections that were held yearly a moon before the turn of the year.

One of these men he knew by men. He was the oldest of the Triarchs, the Old Tiger as he was commonly called in this city. He was a renowned warrior who had fought many battles and was highly regarded among his people. Even so, Aemon had also heard less flattering rumors about him, namely that he was prone to exterminate his enemies, be they women or children. That he had wed more than a hundred different women in his sixty years of his life and had only managed to father a weak son that had drowned before his eight nameday and a daughter that had run off to pursue a rather common occupation, was another reason his enemies liked to mock him for.

Aemon didn’t care. He was here to see the elephants and he had not been disappointed.

He had always dreamed of seeing real dragons and in size these animals came the closest to what Aemon’s imagination was able to come up with.

Dany and Viserys seemed equally fascinated, but Ser Oswell continued to carry his usual grim expression. Zaal was more interested in the whores, but as always he kept a close look on the passing crowd.

It allowed Aemon to focus on the spectacle before his eyes.

Once the elephants had passed by, the fire-dancers appeared. Half-naked girls juggled torches and a man was spitting flames into the air as he walked on high boots while two sun-kissed slave boys were pounding two large drums and a dwarf girl was sounding a small horn slung over her shoulder.

At last, a strange woman appeared. It was an incredibly hot day, but she was wearing long hooded robe and a dark red mask.

Aemon thought her another mummer, but when she looked straight at him with her shiny and wet eyes, visible through her mask, an uncomfortable feeling washed over him, though he tried his best to hide his fear.

“This woman is staring at us,” Dany stated the obvious and even Viserys lifted his head to look at her. “Does she know us?

“I think not,” Aemon replied, the woman’s gaze still fixed on him.

Her gaze was hypnotizing. Her voice was soft and quiet.

It must be some kind of magic that she was able to speak to him from the distance.

“Do not linger in this city for too long, young dragon,” she told him. “You must go east to pass beneath the shadows. There you will find what was lost to your family, a treasure your father wanted to recover, but couldn’t because the Stag cut his life short.”

Aemon shuddered.

“How do you know this?” he asked, but the woman made no attempt to move.

“The glass candles are burning,” she whispered. “But I can’t tell you more. I can only set you on the right path.”

“By giving me vague answers? That makes no sense! At least tell me what my father wanted to recover!”

The woman chuckled.

“What you have been dreaming of since you were a little babe. Dragons…” she replied, her voice fading away as she turned around and disappeared among the crowd.

This was madness or magic.

“Aemon!” Dany’s call made him snap out of his frozen state. “What is wrong?”

Aemon felt as if a spell had been lifted from him and forced a smile over his lips.

he shifted his attention back to Dany.

“Nothing. Nothing happened.”

…


	8. Plotting

Varys felt as if he was coming home when he entered Magister Illyrio’s beautiful garden. With-washed walls surrounded this lush place of greenery and a round pond with goldfish.

A naked slave girl was feeding the fish as he passed. She looked beautiful, all silver haired and purple eyed, just as his sister had been, the Magister’s second wife and lover. She had died eight years ago, but for Varys it felt almost like a lifetime.

_All that is left of her is her boy_ , he knew and followed the Magister’s manservant along the cobbled path leading to the to the colorful baldachin under which the magister lay sprawled on a cushioned sofa. It was made of red plush and two half-naked slave boys were fanning air into his sweaty face as he was breaking his fast on honeyed locust, a delicacy from Meereen. Illyrio had always had a refined taste, but Varys preferred plain food. It was better for his stomach and his health.

“Varys!” his old friend exclaimed and waved his hands. “What a pleasant surprise! I didn’t expect your visit before the next moon turn!”

“I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important,” Varys informed Illyrio, who was garbed in a pink silk robe that could have easily been mistaken for a tourney tent. “It concerns the whereabouts of Princess Daenerys and Prince Viserys Targaryen. It seems they are not dead after all.”

Illyrio’s pig eyes widened in surprise and he quickly grabbed a handful of grapes from the servant girl’s hands.

“That is good news,” his friend added after he had poured down the grapes with a cup of wine. “But I am surprised. You were so convinced that they are dead. You even told your King. Wasn’t he most delighted to hear the news?”

“He was,” Varys confirmed and sat down in the chair opposite Illyrio. He sank deep into the cushion, the soft breeze of the sea washing over his face. “He even celebrated a large tourney, though he claimed the real reason was that Lord Renly’s wife birthed two healthy babes.”

“Two?” Illyrio asked and clapped his hands together, indicating to one of the servant girls to bring them more wine. “What a strong seed this Robert Baratheon has…soon he will have fathered more bastards than Aegon the Unworthy. Tell me, what sex do these children have?”

“A boy and a girl,” Varys explained and was pleased to receive a cup of wine. This one was had golden skin and dark eyes. She was probably from Norvos or from Slaver’s Bay. It was hard to say with these beauties. Varys himself had been a slave and it was hard for him to look at them at times. Illyrio treated them relatively well and pretended that they were his servants, but at the end of the day they were still slaves. “Both named after King Robert’s parents. Steffon and Cassana.”

“What about the Hightower girl? The birth of two babes is a hard task. My Serra was felled by a single one.”

“Alive,” Varys confirmed. “Must be a healthy girl. Well, not that it matters. It is not good for our cause. House Hightower supported the Targaryens during the Rebellion. Aegon will have need of their help to regain his crown. We should at least get rid of the boy.”

“That shouldn’t be hard to accomplish,” Magister Illyrio tittered and took a sip from his cup. “A bit dry this one, don’t you agree, old friend?”

“A bit,” Varys agreed. “And there is an obvious solution to our problem…Cersei Lannister. King Robert fathering a bastard on some random tavern wench is one thing, but fathering two healthy bastards on his brother’s wife is another matter. These hidden bastards are now in line for the throne and so far the Queen has only birthed the King a son and a daughter, but we both know that they are not born from his seed. And should a third child be born…Well, I think it is very likely that it will also be golden-haired like his or her siblings. It is only a matter of time until someone finds out the truth and that might drive the lioness to desperate measures.”

“Like killing two sweet babes in their crib?” Ilyrio asked, an amused smile curling on his lips as he placed his cup back on the wooden table beside him. “Is this Cersei Lannister as blood-thirsty as her Lord Father?”

“Self-centered would be a better description,” Varys jested. “Not that it matters. Robert Baratheon has been doing well in emptying the realm’s coffers, which will make him only more dependent on the Lannisters.”

“Which is good for us,” Illyrio added and chuckled. “And bad for the realm’s coffers. Does it really displease you so that he is working on his own downfall?”

“The blood of the dragon runs through my veins,” Varys reminded Illyrio. “And the blood of the dragon runs through the veins of my nephew. For you it might be amusing, old friend, but for me it is a pain to watch how this man soils the seat of my ancestors.”

“Have patience,” Illyrio said and smiled. ”Our boy is healthy and strong. Lord Connington’s presence should also help to sell our mummery. Once Aegon is old enough he shall sweep away the bad taste the reign of King Robert has left on the Iron Throne.”

“Let it be so,” Varys agreed and sighed deeply. “Yet, our boy will need more than just the word of Lord Connington to prove his legitimacy. As I told you…It is very likely that Princess Daenerys Targaryen and her Uncle Viserys Targaryen are still alive…yet there is more. There was a third boy with them and a man whom I believe to be Ser Oswell Whent.”

Varys was not surprised to see a stunned expression on Illyrio’s face. Varys had been just as surprised.

“Ser Oswell Whent? Truly?”

“The description fits,” Varys explained and folded his hands in front of him. “And the children that were with him fit the description of Princess Daenerys Targaryen and Prince Viserys Targaryen. As for the third boy he didn’t look like a Targaryen, but they called him Aemon.”

Illyrio had grabbed for another handful of honeyed locusts as he had listened to Varys explanations and was now pounding his chest to ease his coughing fit.

“Here,” Varys offered him the cup of wine. “Have mine…”

Illyrio drank deeply and handed the empty cup to the servant girl.

“Aemon you say?” he asked. “But he didn’t look like a Targaryen?”

“His description fits another family…House Stark. My little bird informed me that the boy had brown hair and greyish eyes with a hint of purple. I know this sounds mad, but the only possible explanation for this boys presence among the Targaryens is that he is either the son of Ashara Dayne and Brandon Stark or the son of Lady Lyanna Stark and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“Lady Ashara Dayne and Lord Brandon Stark! Why would the Kingsguard care about the bastard of Brandon Stark?”

“Brandon Stark never wed Catelyn Stark. Mayhaps he wed Lady Ashara? He certainly spent enough time with her at the tourney or that is at least what Princess Elia’s ladies had gossiped. And even if the boy is a bastard…he would always pose a danger for Ned Stark’s oldest son.”

“Does this Lord Stark have many enemies?”

“Not many,” Varys replied. “But there are enemies lurking in the shadows... The Boltons.”

“Yet,” Varys added hesitatingly. “I think it is more likely that the boy is indeed Lady Lyanna’s son. Why name the son of Brandon Stark Aemon? It makes no sense.”

“And the Dragon Prince did take Lady Lyanna,” Illyrio summed up. “That is a fact that cannot be denied. The question is only…Why did Ned Stark not tell his King?”

“I don’t think he knew about the boy. He seems an honest man and loyal to King Robert,” Varys offered as a possible explanation. “The Kingsguard probably left the corpse of Lady Lyanna Stark behind and took the boy across the Narrow Sea to protect him from King Robert’s wrath.”

“A wise thing to do,” Illyrio agreed with obvious displeasure. “But another Targaryen, even though he is only a bastard, is the last thing we need.”

Varys nodded his head in agreement.

“Prince Rhaegar crowned the Stark girl Queen of Love and Beauty. What if he didn’t abduct her, but wed her instead?”

“That would make the boy still a bastard,” Illyrio insisted, but Varys knew better. Targaryen loyalists might care more about the fact that he is Prince Rhaegar’s last living son.

“Prince Rhaegar was beloved by the smallfolk and his father’s lords. They would follow the boy if he has the support of the Kingsguard and his Aunt and Uncle, even if he is the son of a second marriage. All they need to do is find a lord eager enough to see his daughter crowned and there are many of these eager men to be found in the Seven Kingdoms. Lord Mace Tyrell is only one of many.”

“That is so,” Illyrio agreed. “What do you suggest we do about this conundrum?”

“The answer to our problem is obvious,” Varys explained. “We only need the Princess Daenerys. Prince Viserys and the boy must die.”

“The Prince and the bastard must die,” Illyrio repeated. “See to it.”

…

Asha Greyjoy watched as Sansa Stark was braiding another flower crown. This one was made of blue winter roses and suited her beautiful auburn hair. Asha felt always like a peasant compared to Lord Eddard Stark’s eldest daughter, but tried to hide these feelings deep in her heart.

_He mother had told her to be fierce and bold_ , before Robert Baratheon had dragged her away from her home and had killed her two brothers. _Not to be soft and beautiful._

Well, her mother hadn’t been particularly beautiful. At least, not like Lord Stark’s wife and daughter, who were typical greenlander girls. They spent all day inside, liked to wear beautiful dresses and loved to stich.

Asha could barely tolerate the dresses Lord Stark’s wife made her wear, but the stitching was the worst. She could understand that a woman ought to know how to stuff a hole, but to embroider all these clothes with flowers and animals was a waste of time.

“Lady Asha,” Lady Sansa’s called out to her and showed her the flower crown. “What do you think?”

“Beautiful,” Asha replied and touched the flower crown. “You did well, my Lady.”

The flowers smelled good and were beautiful to behold. Asha would have never admitted such thoughts in front of her brothers, but she couldn’t help to admire them. The Iron Islands were a barren place and the only flowers that grew there were ugly and thorny. That such beautiful flowers could grow in the glass houses of the North was a wonder and filled Asha’s mind with all kinds of ideas. Her people lacked the fertile land to plant vegetables and corn, but such glass houses could make all of that possible. It would be a dream come true, but she doubted her Lord Father would hold much love for this greenlander nonsense.

Not that he cared about her anyway. If he did he would have tried to save her from being brought here in the first place, but then Asha was only a girl and lacked a cock essential to be her father’s successor.

“Do you want to put it on?” Lady Sansa asked her.

Asha was hesitant, but after she had swept a searching glance over the godswood she agreed.

“Aye, give it here.”

Lady Sansa smiled brightly and promptly rose to her feet, before placing the crown atop Asha’s disheveled brown hair. More than once Lady Stark had tried to tame that mob and braid it into something manageable, but that task had proven almost impossible. Well, Asha had taken care of it by simply cutting off her hair. Now it was not longer than her middle finger and easy to care for, though she looked like a boy.

With the flower crown now resting atop her head she felt almost like a greenlander girl.

“What do you think?” she asked the Stark girl after she had dropped a mocking curtsy. “Do I look like a true Lady?”

The Stark girl blushed, but her smile was polite.

“You must do it like this,” she replied and showed her how to do a proper curtsy. “But it is a beginning. You just need a bit more practice. Then you will surely find a worthy Lord Husband.”

Asha could only scoff at that notion.

“I don’t want a Lord Husband. I have no intention to end up like my mother.”

The Stark girl gave her a stunned look.

“But you are your father’s only heir. Surely, you want to continue the Greyjoy line?”

“I am not my father’s heir,” Asha explained and allowed herself to drop back on the green grass. “I am his last living child, but that doesn’t mean my sons would succeed him. One of my Uncles will.”

“I do not understand…,” Lady Sansa stuttered. “But then I do not know much about the Iron Islands. I shall ask Maester Luwin to teach us more about them during our next lesson.”

“You don’t need to go to that smelly old Maester to learn more about my people,” Asha offered with a lopsided smile and lay back, her hands crossed behind her head. “I can give you all the answers you yearn for.”

“And you think Lord Stark will approve of that?” the familiar and annoying voice of Cley Cerwyn interrupted them. “I doubt he will like that a hostage is telling his daughter fairy tales about the Iron Islands. We all know what your people are like.”

He was a lanky youth with a shock of red hair and he had hated her the moment he had laid eyes on her, because one of his kin had perished during the Greyjoy Rebellion.

Asha was pleased to see him without his lackeys, namely the Tallhart and Karstark boy, that Lord Stark had taken as wards to provide companions for his heir Robb.

“Oh, what are my people like?” she asked in a mocking tone after she had pulled herself back to her feet. “Prey tell me?”

“Rapists and pillagers!” the boy mocked. “Lord Stark ought to drown you in the sea. Isn’t that what your stupid priests do with their followers? Drown them.”

“What is dead may never die!” Asha shouted and grabbed the boy’s shoulder, before hauling him to the muddy ground. “But rises stronger and harder! Do you want a taste of it? I think so!”

The boy had been so surprised by her attack that it had been easy to pull him to the ground.

Seated atop the little rascal, Asha pressed him down and grabbed a handful of mud, before smearing it all over his face.

The boy kicked and cursed, but Asha showed him no mercy.

She would have continued, had Robb Stark not interrupted their play.

“What do you think you are doing?” Robb Stark demanded to know after he had pulled her backwards, holding her in a tight grip. He was a bit older than her, but Asha didn’t hesitate to kick him in the shin to free herself.

“I was washing his mouth,” Asha explained and brushed the dirt from her dress. “He insulted my people and I made him pay for it. Tell me, Lord Stark? Would you allow it if someone dishonored your face?”

Robb Stark turned to his sister, who was probably responsible for bringing him here. She was a soft-hearted girl, but she was a perpetual squealer. To tell her a secret was like shouting it out loud.

“Is that true, Sansa? Did he dishonor Lady Asha’s people?”

“He did,” Sansa confirmed and nodded her head. “He called them rapists and pillagers.”

“Because it is true!” Cley defended himself, spitting out the dirt that had ended up in his mouth. “Ironborn can’t do anything but rape and pillage!”

“And you think your people collect flowers when they go to war? No, they murder and pillage just as much! Ask my people! Ask what good King Robert did to them!”

“You speak treason, girl!” Cley snarled and spat on the ground before Asha’s dirty boots. “And it was your father who rebelled against his rightful King!”

“Aye, my father did, but the women weren’t the ones who called for rebellion! Women, good King Robert’s men raped!”

“That is a lie!” Cley Cerwyn shouted at the top of his lungs and loomed over her like a dark shadow.

Asha stood her ground and smirked at his mud-smeared face. It was her best work.

“It is no lie. Some of them were kin to me. They may be Ironborn women, but they were also bleeding when King Robert’s good men plunged their cocks between their thighs…,” she ranted, but Robb Stark’s booming voice had silenced her.

“Enough!” he shouted again and again and pushed them aside.” Enough!”

“But Robb!” Cley countered, but Robb Stark’s dark look silenced him as well.

“Enough I said. The lords of the Seven Kingdoms have always quarreled among each other nor do I think it will ever stop. Yet, that is no reason to act like that. You two will make peace with each other or I shall tell my Lord Father about it.”

“With Sansa here he will hear about it anyway,” Asha jested. “I have gotten used to the endless stitching lessons. I won’t mind another one. I wonder what punishment Lady Stark will have for Cley? Scrubbing the stables? Oh, I would like to see that!”

“You little!” Cley snapped back, fists balled, but Robb’s grip on his shoulder held him back.

“Enough,” Robb said in obvious frustration, his face deeply flushed. “Well, if you two do not wish to make peace you shall have your punishment!”

Asha grinned at Lord Stark. She wasn’t afraid to be punished.

“I am looking forward to it!”

…


	9. Swords in the Darkness

The Temple of Light was a massive building of pillars, steps, buttresses, bridges, domes and towers flowing into one another as if they had been chiseled from one colossal rock. Its walls were even more wonderous to behold. A hundred hues of red, yellow, gold and orange met and meld into temple walls, dissolving one into the other like clouds at sunset.

Aemon imagined the Red Keep like this, but Ser Oswell had told dashed all his dreams when he had told him that the Red Keep was not even half as big.

Yet, this had only roused more of Aemon’s interest in the ‘Red Priests’ as Ser Oswell called them. They were a common sight in the streets of Volantis, especially the female kind. Aemon had been fascinated by their scarlet robes and swirling tattoos of crimson and orange. His mother had thought him about the Old Gods and Ser Oswell had thought him about the Faith of the Seven, the Faith every Targaryen King had followed since Aegon the Conqueror had subjugated the Seven Kingdoms with fire and blood. Yet, these were only tales to his young ears while the Red Priests were here in front of his eyes.

Every day, when the first signs of light were visible on the distant horizon they would appear and walk through the streets. Many, especially the poor and those born into slavery flocked to the Red God like a flock of sheep to the protection of their shepard. Aemon couldn’t blame them, for the life of a slave could be a hard one. Sure, the pillow girls and the house slaves sometimes had a more comfortable life than freeborn citizens, but those graced with a cruel master led a life of strife and suffering.

 _I would rather die than to live like that_ , he had heard his Lady Mother say to Uncle Arthur.

Aemon had not been surprised by his mother’s words. She was a free loving person and couldn’t exist without leaving the house at least once a day.

The Red Priests had even more radical views on the matter of slavery. They claim that no man stands above others, not even a King. They also preached that all men were subject to their Lord’s will, who was the master of life and death.

It was a fascinating idea for someone like him as Aemon’s protectors had tried to instill in him a different kind of view, namely that his blood made him special and that he was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

Until now he had never quite understood what it meant to be a King, but whenever he saw these Red Priestesses hand out bread to the hungry or gave blessings to ease the suffering of the sick, he believed to understand what being a King meant.

It wasn’t about being better than others. It was about caring for those that stood below oneself.

“Here we are,” Viserys said and frowned when he laid eyes on the massive temple. “I would say this temple is even bigger than the Sept of Baelor, but I still do not understand why you wanted to come here, nephew? All you will find here are rambling priests and beggars.”

Aemon was half-amused and half-annoyed by his Uncle’s presence.

“I didn’t force you to come, Uncle,” Aemon replied. “Stop complaining.”

“I am not complaining,” Viserys scoffed and crossed his arms in front of him. “I was only pointing out the truth.”

“We appreciate your effort, boy,” Oswell grunted and jerked his head at the entrance. “Let’s get this over with. I promised your mother to bring you home before sunset.”

Aemon followed after him, protected in the rear by Zaal and Darun. They were quick and fast with their swords, but their eyes were even faster. They swept over the crowd as quickly as an eagle attacking its prey and always ready to strike should the need arise. Oswell was much the same, but the way he pushed aside the crowd of people that was streaming into the temple reminded Aemon of a bear trumping through a forest.

The insides of the temple were even more spacious. High pillars held even heavier walls made of black basalt and inlaid with swirling flames of red and gold. The sanctuary of the temple harbored a massive golden cup with a curling flame that was kept alive day and night.

 _The Lord’s breath,_ the followers of this Faith referred to this flame, but to Aemon it looked like normal fire. He had expected more, but perhaps that was still going happen. He had heard tales of miracles and magic, yet the only thing he saw was a young Priestess clad in swirling ropes and a bright smile curling on her crimson lips. It was hard to say how old she was, so perfect was her pale skin and so smooth was her long brown hair that curled around her slender neck where Aemon found a gleaming red ruby. It was the first time he had seen a Priestess wear such a gemstone, which made him believe that she was of a higher rank than the others.

She was accompanied by six tall man clad in polished amour, a crimson cloak swept over their shoulders and fastened with a red ruby. Each man’s face was covered by a helmet with a fiery red plume and in their hands their carried each a polished shield and sharp spear.

 _The Fiery Hand_ , they were called. Holy warriors sworn to the one and true god. Westeros had also known such holy warriors, who had thrown King Aenys reign into chaos.

Aemon had taken from that history lesson three things: That religion was a powerful tool to stir up the masses, that dragonfire was the best way to instill fear and that making peace was the only way forward once one’s enemies have been reduced to ashes. Maegor the Cruel had paved the way with fire and blood and Jaehaerys had rebuild everything from the ashes, but none of this would have been possible without dragons.

Dragons had been the pillar on which house Targaryen had built its fundament. Without it they were nothing, but ordinary. Uncle Arthur often spoke of sellsword companies and marriages with highborn ladies that would help him regain the crown, but Aemon harbored different hopes for the future. Ever since he had met this strange woman during the parade all could think of were dragons. She had told him that his father had wanted to bring back dragons, but that his life had been cut short by the Stag.

And these dragon dreams were the reason he had come here. The Red Priests were supposedly able to read the future in the flames..

More and more people had spilled into the courtyard while the open ceiling above had changed from a clear blue to a purple sky. Oswell was imposing enough that people avoided him whenever he was close, but it had still taken them a while to make their way through the crowd to get a good look at the Red Priestess.

Aemon watched as the warriors of the Fiery Hand parted whenever the next petitioner was allowed to climb up the stone steps to receives the Red God’s blessing.

Aemon watched as an old woman came to receive a kiss on the cheek, how a babe had was blessed with incense and many more such heartfelt scenes, before the warriors of the Fiery Hand allowed them to speak to the Red Priestess. Well, Viserys decided to stay behind as he considered himself above such nonsense, but Oswell was kind enough to accompany Aemon at an appropriate distance.

 _He thinks this all nonsense_ , Aemon thought. _He only agreed because it is my nameday and mother convinced him._

“Who comes before the one true god?” the Priestess asked him with a sweet smile and knelt down to kiss his cheek. It was a form of greeting, but it made him uncomfortable to receive a kiss from another woman other than his mother.

“Aemon,” he replied. To give a wrong name in a god’s holy sanctuary felt wrong. “My name is Aemon.”

“An old name,” the Red Priestess said and smoothed her hand over Aemon’s hair, cheek and finally came to rest on his shoulders. Her eyes were incredibly dark and it felt as if she could see with them beyond mortal flesh right into his mind. “What does your heart year for?”

“An answer,” Aemon replied shyly. It was strange to be close to this strange woman. “They say your god grants visions to those who seek his refuge. I came here to behold such a vision.”

“You want to read in the flames,” the Red Priestess said with knowing smile. “But for that you will need my help. Only those trained in the arts can see and even they can misread the signs. Come to me, after the ceremony is done.”

“But my mother…,” Aemon protested, but the Red Priestess silenced him with a smile and placed another kiss on his cheek. Her kiss felt hot and burning.

“Come or leave. This is your only chance.”

Aemon swallowed hard and nodded his head in confirmation.

“I shall be there.”

“Good.”

Oswell was furious, but Aemon insisted that they would stay and thus they waited patiently until the ceremony was done.

The night had long fallen when they were lead into a separate chamber where the Red Priestess awaited them.

“So you came?” she asked and smiled at his companions, especially Viserys. “Is that your kin? If so…those of Valyrian descent are always welcome.”

“I am the blood of the dragon,” Viserys confirmed proudly. “It is good that you know your place, Priestess.”

“A proud mind,” the Red Priestess remarked and clucked her tongue. “Do you also wish to behold the flames?”

“No, I only came because my insufferable nephew wanted to come here.”

“What a pity,” the Red Priestess said and jerked her head at the curling flames in the brazier. “Well, it seems you are the only one brave enough to face the flames.”

“That is what I came for,” Aemon confirmed stiffly. He felt Ser Oswell’s gaze burning into his back. He would drag him out of here if the Red Priestess tried something. “Show me! Show me where I can find dragons!”

The Priestess smiled and slipped a blue bottle from her robes, showing it to him.

“This will help you to see the truth.”

Aemon swallowed hard and picked the bottle from her hands. He opened it and graced Ser Oswell with an assuring smile.

Oswell gave him a grim nod.

It was all the encouragement Aemon needed to drown the blue liquid. It tasted of sweet honey of milk, of his mother’s kiss and his favorite pies. It also made him feel dizzy and colorful dots were suddenly dancing before his eyes as the Red Priestess was leading him closer to the flames.

The flames were just as mesmerizing to behold. They gleamed in all kind of different colors. Hues of gold, orange and yellow mixed with each other and blurred before his eyes making him feel disoriented.

Soon, the vision became clearer, washing over him like a sudden burst of rain.

He saw a place he wasn’t familiar with. There was a city made of black walls, black towers and black streets. Even the river rushing through the city was dark and glimmered in a sickly green color. Shadows reigned in this city and men died when they dwelled too long amongst its walls…

Yet, he saw no dragons. Only shadows and never-ending darkness that swallowed him whole.

When Aemon came back to himself, he was still standing in front of the flames, the Red Priestess’ hands resting on his shoulders.

“What did you see?”

“Shadows.”

“A city of shadows,” she corrected him, her warm breath brushing over his neck. “Asshai-by-the-Shadows.”

“Is that where I can find dragons?”

“Perhaps, but it is no place for mortals. Linger too long and you will be swallowed by the corruption.”

“Have you seen visited this city?”

“I did,” the Red Priestess confirmed and touched her pulsating ruby. “And when you are old enough I shall guide you there beyond the shadows.”

“What is your name, Priestess?”

“I have many names and I shall find you when the time comes, little dragon.”

Aemon was stunned and turned around to look at her.

“How do you know who I am?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

“I saw your coming in the flames,” she whispered back and smiled sadly. “And now you must leave. Your Lady Mother has need of your presence. I fear I kept you too long.”

Aemon didn’t know what to make of the Red Priestess’ cryptic, but could also see that Ser Oswell was impatient to leave.

Aemon had forced him to break his promise to his Lady Mother. There was nothing in the world Ser Oswell hated more than that.

 _He will have me punished_ , Aemon knew, but he was prepared to accept that.

…

Viserys’ brushed the sweat from his brow as they fought their way through the bustling crowd.

As always, Zaal and Darun flanked them and Ser Oswell walked behind them, blending out the weak candlelight from the windows. It was like walking in the shadow of a mountain, but even that made it hard for Viserys to feel safe.

Ever since the day, he had been forced leave his home with his Lady Mother, he hadn’t been able to sleep properly. His Lady Mother had pretended until the bitter end that everything was going to be alright, but in the end she had died while the mighty Targaryen Fleet had been swallowed by a storm.

Viserys had been just a boy, but still recalled the black skies and the sound rolling thunder.

Just the memory of it made him shudder from head to toe, though he would have never admitted to his fears in front of others.

He was no longer like the young boy that had clung to his mother’s skirts. He was nearly a man grown and the Usurper would rue the day he killed his brother Rhaegar.

“Hurry up, boys!” Oswell shouted impatiently as they walked along the main street. Whores waved at Viserys as they passed. One of the girls he recalled from the parade. She had red hair and bright green eyes. “We are late.”

“Blame my nephew for dragging us to this Red Priestess,” Viserys mocked. “A waste of time if you ask me.”

“She gave me the answer I have been searching for,” Aemon replied with obvious displeasure, but didn’t turn around to look at Viserys. “Asshai-by-the-Shadow. That’s where we will find dragons.”

“Your father dreamed of hatching dragons,” Ser Oswell added hesitatingly. “He spent moons digging around Summerhall for such eggs, but in the end he found nothing, but scorched bones and melted glass. Once, he even travelled to the Wall.”

“Summerhall I can understand,” his nephew remarked after he had angled his head to look back at Ser Oswell. “But why the Wall? Why did he go there?”

“Your Grand-Uncle Aemon, the brother of King Aegon the Unlikely resides there. Prince Rhaegar and he stood in constant correspondence. I do not know the details of their exchange, but the Prince was very fond of the old man.”

“Aemon?” his nephew asked. “Is that how I got my name?”

Ser Oswell shrugged his shoulder.

“Ask your mother. She chose the name.”

“I see,” his nephew replied and furrowed his brows. “But I still don’t understand why father hoped to find eggs at the Wall?”

“Queen Alysanne flew there with her dragon,” Viserys explained and marveled at this nephew’s lack of knowledge. “There are were rumors that…,” Viserys had wanted to explain, but was interrupted by a sudden attack.

It had happened all so quickly, but Ser Oswell had managed to grab the attacker’s arm in time before he had been able to bury his dagger in Oswell’s shoulder.

The man’s face was a grimace of pain as the knight pulled the man’s arm backwards, the sound of crunching bones ringing in their ears and Ser Oswell’s dagger quickly finding the enemy’s neck.

The man’s eyes widened in shock and a choking sound left his mouth, before he collapsed to the ground.

The crowd had long parted, putting distance between themselves and the two struggling men.

Viserys and Aemon, who had quickly been pulled backwards by Darun and Zaal, had watched in stunned silence how Ser Oswell had killed the man without a hint of mercy.

Only when Ser Oswell turned around, did Viserys notice the cut at his neck. It was not deep, but blood was dripping unto his yellow cloak.

The bloody sight caused Viserys to pull out his dagger and when he looked over to Aemon he saw that his nephew had done the same.

Yet, that was not the end of their struggles, for not long after four more men had emerged from the crowd.

Most of them were strongly-built and tall of stature. It was not hard to understand that they were sellswords intent on killing them.

“Who are you and what do you want?” Oswell asked them as Zaal and Darun freed their blades. Both fought with curved blades while Oswell preferred his Westerosi sword. “Look at your friend. Try something stupid and you will end up like him.”

“He was the worst of us,” the eldest declared proudly. His hair was black and the lower half of his teeth were golden. “But you won’t fare so well against us.”

Ser Oswell didn’t seem impressed and bared his white teeth. “Who are you? Where I come from men give their names before a duel.”

“Westeros, isn’t it?” the man with the golden teeth asked.

“None of your business,” Ser Oswell replied and tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. “But I am sure the sharp edge of my blade will be enough to make you speak!”

“First you must defeat us,” One of the younger men added almost cheerfully. His boots were silver-buckled and his golden hair was braided atop his head.

Ser Oswell proved himself as the formidable swords man he was known for.

The cheerful boy was dead before he had been able to lift his blade, Oswell’s sword nearly taking off the boy’s head. A second man had died by Zaal’s hands, but only after a handsy struggle.

A heartbeat later, Oswell had parried a blow that had been meant for Darun. Another heated struggle followed in which Oswell was fighting two at once.

Left and right, he parried blows or moved out of the way, his thick armor protecting him against their quick thrusts.

Yet, Zaal didn’t just sit by and leapt at the remaing sellsword, his dagger soon sticking out of the man’s back as he collapsed in a puddle of blood.

At last, the golden-teethed sellsword and Ser Oswell remained.

They danced around each other, exchanging blows left and right. It could have gone on forever, hadn’t Oswell made use of his chance and cut open the man’s leg. A shrill cry of pain rang in Viserys’ ears as the man fell to the ground and Oswell was about to give him the death blow when the man drove his dagger into Oswell’s leg.

The man died anyway, but the thick spurts of blood spilling down Oswell’s leg was not a pleasant sight to behold. The knight clenched his teeth in pain and tried to walk.

“We need to move on,” Ser Oswell snapped at Darun. “Help me.”

Darun was quick to grab Oswell beneath the shoulder while Zaal scoured the dead bodies of the four men. “This one looks like he is from Norvos. The other one could be from Tyrosh. I am not sure.”

Viserys watched Zaal while Aemon was already at Oswell’s side, pulling on his cloak.

“It doesn’t matter where they are from,” Ser Oswell complained. “I know why they came.”

“The Usurper,” Viserys knew and tried to hide his fear as he helped Aemon steady Ser Oswell’s left side.

“Let Zaal do it, boy,” Oswell commanded, but Aemon shook his head.

“He is hurt,” his nephew explained and jerked his head at Zaal, who was limping. “And it is better if we stay close together.”

“Good argument,” Oswell replied through clenched teeth. “But let us not quarrel like old women. We must seek out the ‘meeting place’.”

Aemon paled visibly. “We are not going home?”

“No,” Oswell replied grimly. “These men knew when to attack us. They must have watched us for a while. If your Lady Mother and the Princess Daenerys didn’t make it out they are dead anyway. Going back would only endanger us unnecessarily.”

Ser Oswell’s words pained Viserys and he was about to protest, his nephew was faster.

Aemon protested loudly.

“But you swore to protect us!”

“I swore to protect _you_!” Oswell grumbled and grabbed Aemon by the shoulder, forcing him to look at him. “And by going back there in this state I would go against this vow! Now come along, boy! I have no time for childish behavior!”

“No! We can’t go without them!” Aemon shouted and tried to free himself from Oswell’s tight grip, but it was no use.

“Ser Oswell is right!” Viserys added helplessly. There was no time for this nonsense. “We need to get away from here and then we can make plans.”

“Coward!” Aemon snarled and would have probably done more, but Oswell had dealt him a slap to the face, which had caused him to stumble backwards.

Any other boy would have wept, but Aemon was utterly silent, his dark eyes staring back at Oswell with boiling rage.

“I am bleeding and can barely stand!” Ser Oswell told his nephew in an icy tone. “Going back would be suicide. Now come along, boy. A dead King is no use to anyone.”

Aemon paled visibly and said nothing.

…

Dany had been dreaming of dragons when Lyanna had roused her from her slumber.

Rubbing her eyes, she sought her good-sister’s shadowed face.

“What happened?”

“There is someone downstairs,” Lyanna whispered to her and quickly placed a cloak around Dany’s shoulders, fastening the bindings, before roaming the room in search for Dany’s boots. All the while she continued to speak in a whispering voice. “I heard voices and footsteps below. We must hurry. You know what we have to do.”

Dany’s heartbeat sped up, a strange feeling of dizziness overcoming her and a thousand of questions flickering through her mind as she pulled on the boots Lyanna had just handed her.

“What about the others? Have they not returned?

“I do not know,” Lyanna replied in an impatient voice and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of her chamber and along the dark corridor. Most of the living space was downstairs and one had to cross a narrow corridor to gain access to Dany’s, Lyanna’s, Aemon’s and Viserys’ chambers. “I do not know.”

“What can we do?” Dany asked fearfully and tried to be brave. Yet, she was clinging to Lyanna’s skirt.

“We will do what Arthur would want us to do,” Lyanna explained and tightened her grip on the slender blade she always fastened on her belt. Dany had seen her train every day, but these men downstairs were probably trained to kill. Viserys had always warned her about this day. If Laho, who was supposed to guard the door in Ser Oswell’s absence, hadn’t been able to fend them off, how could Lyanna do it?

“But they are downstairs!” Dany whispered. “They are going to see us!”

“They will see me,” Lyanna assured Dany and touched her cheek. “But you are going to run to the larder and escape through the window leading out to the garden. It’s a few feet high, but the orchard below ought to soften your fall.”

Dany was barely able to take a breath, before Lyanna retrieved a bag of coin from the vest of her cloak and handed it to Dany. “This should be enough to get away. You know where to go.”

Dany swallowed hard, the idea of leaving Lyanna making her freeze in fear.

“Do you understand?” Lyanna asked, her voice laced with panic as she glimpsed over her shoulder down into an abyss of darkness. “Come and stay behind me until I tell you otherwise. Your dark cloak ought to hide you well enough.”

Dany’s throat felt dry, no word coming out of her mouth.

Thus, she simply nodded her head and received a squeeze on the shoulder.

Then, Lyanna freed her blade, making her way down the staircase while Dany was watching.

Downstairs she saw mostly darkness, safe for the pale moonlight falling through the two narrow windows above.

When Dany heard the sound of the footsteps, she knew that the enemy was close.

It was hard to say how many men they were. Dany believed it were two, but she wasn’t sure. One man spoke in a strange Ghiscari accent and the other one must hail from this city, fore he spoke with an accent common to this city.

Lyanna had told her to wait, but her fear made her crawl all the way to the edge of the staircase. She found Lyanna moving along the wall, her sword in hand.

Dany held her breath as Lyanna lifted her blade and plunged it into the man’s neck.

Dany had closed her eyes, but opened them again when she heard Lyanna’s shouting.

“Dany! Now!”

Dany brushed all thoughts of fear away and ran, taking two or three steps at once. Once she nearly slipped, but she managed to regain her balance, before storming towards the larder.

 _If I look back I am lost_ , she whispered to herself as she crossed the dark room, hoping that there was not a third man waiting for her there _. If I look back I am lost._

Only when she reached the larder did her heartbeat calm and she was able to form a clear thought. It was a small room, not taller than a man of average height and about fifty feet wide.

Exhaling deeply, Dany climbed atop the wooden boxes that were stacked above each other.

Sweat was pouring down her cheeks when she was finally crawling through the small window.

The cool breeze brushing her face felt almost like relief, but once she saw the darkness beneath her feet Dany’s courage faltered.

 _If I look back I am lost_ , Dany reminded herself and exhaled deeply, before diving into the darkness spreading beneath her feet.

It all happened to so quickly. Within the blink of a moment she found herself perched in the bushes and brambles growing there.

Lyanna had been right. She had survived the fall.

Yet, that wasn’t really what occupied Dany’s mind when she looked up at the window.

Lyanna would want her to leave at once, but Dany couldn’t bring herself to leave.

She stayed there until she had counted from one to thousand. Only then did she climb out of the garden.

She couldn’t see much in the darkness, but the sudden sight of blood on the ground caused her to turn around and storm down the road.

Then, she crossed the plaza and climbed over the hedge to entered one of the many pleasure gardens that had been gifted to the peasants of this city by some Triarch that had lived about a hundred years ago.

Lyanna had told her to go to the ‘meeting place’ but Dany couldn’t bring herself to leave just like that and hiding here would give her a chance to watch their house from a safe distance.

 _Lyanna will come_ , she told herself. _Lyanna will come._

Dany didn’t know how long she had been sitting there in the darkness, when she suddenly noticed a dark shadow rushing down the street, the way Dany was supposed to go.

 _Lyanna_ , Dany hoped and left her hiding place only to return where she had come from. Then, she was running again, but glanced over her shoulder every few steps to make sure that nobody was following her. _Lyanna._

Dany sped up her pace as she ran after the person, the light radiating from the windows the only source of light.

Yet, once she had reached a narrow alley, the person was suddenly gone.

Dany stood there and looked around, but found only darkness.

Suddenly, someone grabbed her from behind and pulled her backwards.

Dany thought this was the end, but when she heard Lyanna’s hoarse voice, she knew that everything was going to be alright.

“Gods!” Lyanna gasped. “I thought you were one of them.”

Dany shook her head and searched Lyanna’s face.

Dany couldn’t help but to notice the blue bruise above her brow and her split lips.

“You are bleeding!” Dany whispered and lifted her hand touch Lyanna’s face, but her good-sister grabbed her hand to stop her. “What happened?”

“I killed the first one, but the second one nearly got me. We had a nasty struggle, but I managed to get away. I am sure he is still alive.”

“And Yang? Where is she?”

“Yang is dead…”

Dany’s heart sank.

“What can we do?”

“Nothing,” Lyanna told her and kissed her brow. ”Now come along. We must go to the ‘meeting place’.”

…


	10. Childhood's End

Oswell looked as if all blood had been drained out of his face, but at least he was alive.

For hours, Lyanna had tried her best to knit together Ser Oswell’s wound with needle and thread.

When she was a young girl her mother made her do needlework, but embroidery and everything else had always been a mystery to her. Instead she had dedicated herself to mastering the bow and the lance, not good training for needlework.

Regarding her work once more, she decided that it could have been worse. At least, the bleeding had finally stopped and Ser Oswell had, apart from the occasional grunt of pain, endured her attentions like a brave man of the Kingsguard ought to do.

“Huh,” Lyanna sighed and smiled at Dany, who had been keeling next to her throughout the whole procedure, keeping her well supplied with clean water and cloth. Lyanna had wanted to send the children to bed, but the three of them had refused and she had had no time to quarrel with them. “It is done.”

Oswell gave her a weary smile.

“Aye, it is done, my Lady. I am also no longer bleeding out like a pig. You have my thanks, my Lady.”

Lyanna was relieved to hear his optimism and brushed her braid over her shoulder, but the cut had been deep and there was always a risked of inflammation, despite the plenty of grog they had used to clean the wound. “I still think it would be best for you to see a proper healer.”

“We have neither the coin nor the time for that,” Ser Oswell grumbled and pulled himself up. He had been seated in a chair, clinging to the handle as Lyanna had worked on his leg placed on a wooden stool.

He looked as if a heavy burden had been placed on his shoulder as he moved, but with Lyanna’s help he managed to sit straight.

“My mother speaks true,” added Aemon, who had listened to their conversation form the corner of the room. He carried an unusual solemn expression, the kind of expression Rhaegar used to carry whenever he spoke about his father whom he had feared and hated. “You need to see a healer. You are of no use if you were to die.”

Oswell scoffed and picked his boots from Aemon’s hands. “I am an old man, my boy, and I have already been serving in the Kingsguard when your mother was nothing, but a kindling in your grandmother’s womb. Death is my constant companion.”

“But I don’t want you to die!” Aemon insisted fiercely and searched the old man’s gaze. “I won’t allow it!”

“The gods don’t give a shit about your wants, my boy,” Oswell grumbled with a hint of affection and ruffled her son’s hair, his eyes still red-rimmed from the tears he had shed during their reunion hours ago. Her son had never been prone to weeping, but in that moment he had liked the fragile little boy he was supposed to be and not the King Oswell and Arthur wanted to turn him into. “But I appreciate the sentiment. Anyway, we should leave. The _Shy Maid_ is a good brothel, but we can’t stay here. A ship for Braavos ought to leave on the morrow.”

Lyanna was not surprised by Oswell’s knowledge.

.“And Ser Arthur will know where to find us?” Viserys asked skeptically. He was seated on the floor beside the heart, his dirty travelling cloak wound around his shoulders. He had grown into a fine young man and when he was being serious like this he had shades of Rhaegar about hi, though Viserys lacked his brother’s soft features and dark indigo eyes. “How can you be sure?”

“You don’t have to fret, my Prince,” Oswell assured Viserys. “Arthur and I prepared for such a situation, which is why we are heading for Braavos.”

“I like the idea of going to Braavos,” Dany chirped, some color finally returning to her cheeks. She had been very rattled by the events that had transpired. Especially, Yang’s death had saddened her. “They have a massive Titan that protects the city from invaders!”

“This mighty Titan is just a piece of stone,” Viserys countered. “He can’t do shit against the Usurper.”

“I do not think it was Robert who send these men after us,” Lyanna added and looked over to Ser Oswell, who was clenching his teeth as he was trying to slip his feet into the second boot. “If Robert knew about my survival and Aemon’s existence, he would come himself. He is not the kind of man who employs assassins to do his dirty work.”

“I agree,” Ser Oswell replied through gritted teeth. “But the Usurper might have just wanted to kill Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys. I doubt he was aware of your presence, let alone your son.”

Lyanna nodded her head and rose to her feet to join her son’s side. He looked unhappy with Ser Oswell’s decision.

“Ser Oswell speaks true,” Lyanna said softly and touched his shoulder. “We need to leave. Arthur would say the same thing if he was here.”

Her son frowned as he lifted his head to look at her, his eyes suddenly a stormy grey color, like her own.

“I understand, mother. We shall sail for Braavos.”

…

A cool breeze was brushing Lord Varys’ cheek as he descended deeper and deeper into the abyss of darkness before him. The tunnels beneath the Red Keep were a deadly maze for those who didn’t know their way, but to the Master of Whisperers this place had become as familiar as the city he grown up in.

The shadows danced as he climbed down the steps, his form broader than ever. As a young boy, he had been thin like a broomstick as his Master hadn’t thought it necessary to feed his slaves properly.

He had desired strapping pleasure boys to warm his bed, though he himself had been a man of heavy girth. Whenver he had bent Varys over a table, he had often felt as if he had been squashed by a massive bear.

 _Good that I have no cock_ , Varys mused and slipped his golden key out of the pockets of his silken robe to open the iron door that would lead him only deeper into the maze that had been built Maegor the Cruel. _Or I would have long fallen to the same depravities like our current King._

Then, he passed through another door, a cold breeze making his cloak swish and move as if touched by invisible hands.

 _That way_ , he recalled and crossed the long hall filled with the skulls of dragons of old that mad King Aerys had liked to keep in the throne room to show the might of house Targaryen for all the world to see.

Varys had visited this place a thousand times, but it was hard for him to recall their names at times, though his Lady Mother had often told them stories about the dragons of old to ease his and Serra’s fears..

It had helped to ease their fears for some time, but hadn’t protected them from the ill fortunes that had befallen them. Varys had been sold to his Master and Serra had been turned into a pillow girl. That was until Illyrio had found her and had made her his wife.

He had also found Varys, but by then he had already lost his cock. That he hadn’t lost his mind was a miracle to him.

Yet, here he was. Alive and well and with his nephew waiting to reclaim his rightful place as King of the Seven Kingdoms. He was so close to finally reaching the goal he had been working towards since he had entered into King Aerys’ employ.

It had been easy to set the Mad King against his own son until the fool had turned mad himself and had apparently run away with the Stark girl.

It had felt so sweet to see them all burn.

“Varys,” Magister Illyrio’s quiet voice reached him through the darkness. The smell of the sewers entered his nostrils, but it was not worse than the smell of deceit that pervaded every part of this city. “Is that you?”

“It is me,” Varys confirmed and lifted his torch drive away the darkness. “Up here, my old friend.”

Illyrio’s massive shadow loomed larger than life as he forced himself up the last pair of steps, sweat rolling down his cheeks and dripping unto his dark robe.

“Forgive me, for forcing you to come to this unseemly place,” Varys apologized to his old friend and drew closer. “But I couldn’t leave King’s Landing on such a short notice.”

“No bother,” Illyrio laughed breezily and waved his hand. “I am pleased to visit King’s Landing. It is such a charming city.”

“I cannot agree,” Varys replied. “But I am pleased to see you. Sadly, I bring dark tidings. It seems our endeavor failed.”

Illyrio’s face was unreadable, his brows furrowed.

“How so? What happened?”

“Two moons have passed and I have yet to receive an answer from _our men_. That is why I sent my birds to investigate and found out that the little dragons escaped.”

“These are dark tidings indeed, old friend,” Illyrio said, his voice laced with disappointment. “But there was always a risk that our ploy might fail. Mayhaps we will get another chance?”

“I don’t think so,” Varys said and swallowed hard. “I doubt the men will give us another opportunity. ”I have tasked my birds to look out for them, but they have practically disappeared into thin air. They must have left quickly.”

Illyrio nodded his head in understanding and stroked his beard.

“What do you suggest, old friend?”

“A different approach,” Varys explained. “The Princess is lost to us, but our Prince will need more than just Lord Connington to back his claim. I think it would be wise to approach the Dornish.”

“Doran Martell is known to be a cautious man,” Illyrio countered skeptically. “He might not buy our ploy?”

“Doran Martell will be hard to convince, but Prince Oberyn might be worth a try. He and Princess Elia were supposedly very close. He also wanted to rouse Dorne to war against Robert Baratheon. This is a man who is of the most passionate nature and you know what I say about passion?”

A ghost of a smile tugged on Magister Illyrio’ lips.

“It makes us blind to what is right in front of us.”

Varys returned his smiled.

“And even more so love. Especially, the love for a sister. I would know.”

…

The Titan’s roar woke him from his slumber. He nearly kissed the ground as he tried to sit up the pallet that had served as his sleeping place for the rocky sea travel from Volantis to Braavos.

So far, the sea had been kind, but that hadn’t been much of a consolation for Arthur and Benjen.

When they had returned Volantis they had found their home deserted. Arthur had been beyond himself with fear and Benjen Stark had scoured the entire neighborhood, questioning everyone.

It had taken much convincing on Arthur’s side to get Benjen to abandon his fruitless search.

All in all, they had found out little. The neighbors had mentioned that strangers had attacked the house and that the lady and the children had disappeared on the next day and the servants had been found dead.

“Braavos smells of fish,” Benjen Stark’s voice reached him through the darkness of their cabin, which they were sharing with two other men and who were still curled up beneath their blankets. “Reminds me of my time in White Harbour.”

His travelling companion looked exhausted.

Arthur couldn’t blame him. He himself hadn’t found much sleep throughout their long travel.

Every time, he had closed his eyes he had imagined one horror scenario after another.

“I have never been to White Harbour,” Arthur replied as he was reaching for his boots. He had slept in his cloak and with his blade at hand, ready to move on at any moment. “But I doubt your brother would welcome me with open arms.”

“So much is true,” Benjen confirmed.

Arthur didn’t know what to make of Lyanna’s brother. He rarely spoke with Arthur, but he believed it had little to do with dislike, but more with the fact that Benjen Stark was a man of few words.

Yet, he was a capable fighter and the other men in the company liked him. The fact that he was a Stark made it still hard for Arthur to trust him completely.

“We should prepare,” Benjen Stark suggested. “We will have to face the custom officers and then we can finally leave this ship. I am eager to have hard ground beneath my feet.”

Arthur couldn’t help but to agree. He held not much love for sea travel.

“Aye, let’s go.”

The air outside proved rather chilly, the sky scattered with grey clouds that looked ready to shed their load upon the city.

The ‘meeting place’ had been suggested by Ser Oswell. It was a brothel called Happy Port.

It was close to midday when they left the ship. By then, the rain was drumming down on them until they were drenched from head to toe.

Arthur felt little discomfort, though. Volantis had been hot and steaming. Braavos’ weather was almost refreshing, especially after they had been sent to another pointless campaign to the Disputed lands.

Yet, finding Oswell’s brothel proved harder than expected as Braavos was comprised of a hundred islands linked together by numerous stone bridges. The tightly packed houses also made it hard to see further than a few leagues.

Midday had come and gone, before they found themselves referred to Ragman’s Port.

It was one of the less splendid parts of the city, but Arthur had seen worse in Volantis.

Happy Port proved well-attended by the sailors of this city, sitting across an alley form the so-called Mummer’s Ship. The bright sound of music rang in their ears as they stopped in front of the curved doors decorated with a mural of purple galleys and manned by women, wearing nothing but tight-high boots.

Arthur was not surprised that Oswell chose this place. He always had an odd sense of humor and Arthur had almost laughed when he saw Benjen’s stunned expression.

“I suppose they want to give the customer a first impression of their products,” Arthur jested in an attempt to ease the tension in his body. “Do look away if you must.”

“I am a man grown and I have lain with plenty of women,” Benjen Stark replied in a flustered tone. “Not many men are as honorable as my brother Ned.”

Arthur knew what he meant. “Like your brother Brandon.”

Benjen nodded his head, a sad expression taking hold of his face.

“Brandon liked the ladies. So much is true.”

“I hated him for what he did to my sister,” Arthur replied. “Nobody deserves such a fate.”

“And I should hate you for helping my sister run away with your Prince. Still, I am here.”

“You are here,” Arthur confirmed and stepped through the door.

The smell of roasted meat, perfume and candles filled his nose as they forced their way through the crowd of people.

When a girl with red hair and dressed in nothing but a green shift and high boots passed by, Arthur took his chance.

“My Lady,” he said. “A word…”

The girl stopped abruptly and turned around, a lock of red hair spilling into her face as she smiled at him.

“How can I be of service to you, my lord?”

“I need to speak to your Mistress.”

The girl looked disappointed, but obeyed. “Sure, please follow after me.”

She led them up a wooden staircase and opened the door to a spacious solar decorated with colorful tapestries.

Mistress Meralyn was a pudgy woman with red cheeks who might have once been a great beauty.

“Mistress,” he greeted the Lady and dipped. “My name is Ser Symon Snowlock and I came to find my wife and children. I was told they are here. There should be a guardsman with them…an elderly man that never smiles.”

The Mistress smiled openly and brushed her braid back over her shoulder.

“Your Lady is here,” the Mistress assured him quickly. “And so did her young ones. I settled them in our better chambers. I thought it would be inappropriate for them to stay with the others, especially after their protector proved quite generous. The Sailor’s Wife sent her daughter to attend to them.”

“The Sailor’s wife?” Benjen asked in confusion. His Bastard Valyrian was still lacking. “Who is that?”

“A Lady who works in my establishment,” the Mistress explained. “Her daughter is called Lanna. I shall call for her. She will lead you to the guesthouse.”

Arthur gave her a thankful smile. “We are thankful for your help, Mistress.”

His little King was the first one to notice his presence.

“Uncle Arthur!” the boy exclaimed and buried his fingers in the cloth of his cloak. The relief in his voice was palpable. “I feared you wouldn’t be able to find us.”

Arthur was equally relieved and clutched the boy’s face between his gloved hands, taking in his changed appearance.

He had grown a few inches and his hair was bit longer, but the most important thing was that he was alive and healthy.

“What kind of man of the Kingsguard do you think I am?” Arthur teased and ruffled his hair, sweeping his gaze through the room. “I would have search for you till the end of my days.”

It was big enough chamber for four people. There was a hearth, two beds, a table, stools, an oil candle and a cheap carpet that was meant to resemble the colorful patterns of a Myrish carpet.

Lyanna had been cooking something over the curling flames, the little Princess grouching next to her while Prince Viserys was watching them sceptically.

It smelled of stew, perhaps lamp or pig with mint. Oswell was also there, seated next to the hearth. His cloak was thrown over his shoulders and his blade leaning next to his propped-up leg. He looked sickly, but there was weary smile on his lips as he met Arthur’s gaze.

Lyanna was quick on her feet to embrace him and placed a kiss on his cheek.

“Gods, I thought you wouldn’t find us!” she said in a trembling voice. “I am glad you are back, Arthur.”

Arthur was surprised by her reaction.

Lyanna was not prone to tears.

“I hope I am also welcome?” Benjen asked, a smile twisting on his lips as stepped into the chamber.

“Of course, you fool!” Lyanna exclaimed, let go of Arthur and pulled her brother into a tight embrace. “It is good to have you back, Ben. Please come in…supper should be ready…,” she trailed off, turned around and gave Viserys and the little Princess a quizzical look.

“I think it is finished,” the little Princess replied with a loop-sided grin and stirred the pot.

Viserys wrinkled his nose at the smell. “It smells burned.”

“You smell burned, silly brother!” the little Princess snapped back at the Prince. “Do the cooking yourself if you can do it so much better!”

“I smell nothing burned,” his little King added cheerfully, his long face lightened up by a seldom smile. “I think that is only your imagination.”

“I have to agree with ‘his Grace’,” Arthur added teasingly and smiled at Lyanna. “I think it smells good.”

Lyanna’s long faced lightened up like a room full of candles.

It seemed his compliment pleased her, though Arthur would have eaten anything. The food during their long campaign and their sea travel had left him wanting.

“Then I suggest we eat,” Oswell added in his usual gruff voice. “There is much we need to discuss.”

“Indeed,” Arthur agreed and sat down on the stool, placing his blade beside him. “There is much we need to discuss.”

Lyanna brought them each a bowl, filling it with the stew while his little King and the little Princess handed out the bread.

The sight amused Arthur.

The high lords of Westeros would have a fit if they saw a Prince distributing bread.

“Tell us,” Benjen Stark’s said. “What happened in Volantis?”

“We were attacked by men…sellwords,” Oswell explained. “We managed to kill them. One of them gave me this nasty wound and then we went to seek out the ‘meeting place’.”

“Where we found them…thank the gods,” Lyanna added and broke her bread. “I thought they are going to find us.”

“Lyanna killed one of them!” the little Princess chirped. “And then we ran out of the house. It was scary, but I don’t think they will find us now. Braavos is too far away from Volantis, isn’t it?”

Arthur was not as optimistic as the little Princess, but he didn’t want to dim her happiness.

“I hope so,” Arthur replied and couldn’t help but to notice Prince Viserys’ gloomy expression. “No, I promise. We shall be safe.”

“Have you been able to find out who sent these men? King Robert?”

“Probably,” Oswell growled. “But I think they were only after Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys.”

“That is good,” Benjen added and shoveled the last bits of stew into his mouth.

He looked relieved.

Arthur was also relieved, but he didn’t trust the false peace.

 _It is time_ , he knew. _Time to take the boys to the battlefield._

_Lyanna won’t like that._

“You intend to take him away, don’t you?” she asked him later after the children had gone to bed.

“Not only your boy,” Arthur confirmed and leaned over to squeeze her shoulder. “Viserys as well. The boy is far too spoiled. It will do him good to get a taste of the real world.

“They are children,” Lyanna reminded him with a heavy sigh. “They could die.”

“They will serve as squires,” Arthur explained. “I certainly won’t send them to the battlefield until they are up to this task, but if they can’t even do that then there is no hope for our cause to begin with.”

Lyanna’s demeanor changed immediately, a wolfish expression taking hold of her face. Arthur knew then that he had overstepped her bounds.

“The cause! The cause! The bloody cause!” she snapped angrily and rose to her feet, pacing up and down the room, albeit mindfully not to wake the children next door. “Is that all that counts? I never wanted this for my son! Gods, what if he ends up dying?”

“There is always that risk,” Arthur admitted and shrugged his shoulders. He understood her agitation, but they had little choice. “We have spoken about this before. Tell me, is there a better solution, Lyanna? Do you want the children to spend their life in exile until the end of their days.”

Lyanna fell silent and looked as if all blood had been drained out of her face.

“No,” she said after a moment of silence had passed between them and sat down beside him again, watching the dying flames with a resigned expression.

Exhaling deeply, she leaned closer and leaned against his shoulder. “I know I am behaving like a child. Aemon needs to go and so must Viserys. What about Daenerys, though?”

“She will stay with you,” Arthur explained. “To keep you company. And Oswell will watch over you. Like always.”

Lyanna nodded her head, a ghost of a smile tugging on her lips as she squeezed his hand.

“I am still going to miss you.”

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat and he quickly pulled his hand away.

This was wrong.

“I shall visit more often,” he promised and rose to his feet, averting his gaze. “I promise.”

All he heard was Lyanna’s heavy sigh.

“I believe you. Unlike Rhaegar you have the tendency to keep your promises.”

…

A soft breeze made the waters of the pool ripple.

The water was deep blue, goldfish swimming at the bottom of the pool.

Usually, the pools of the water gardens were filled with squealing children, splashing and enjoying their games, but not today.

She herself often spent whole evenings here, indulging in such childish games, but not today.

Today, the sky was covered with heavy grey clouds ready to burst forward.

She also didn’t mind the rain, though it was an uncommon occurrence in the hot lands of Dorne.

Then, the rain came. It started with soft drizzle and ended with thick droplets drumming down on her until her dark hair was clinging to her face and her dress was completely drenched.

Only when the rain had stopped, did she slip back to the palace, where her Aunt Ellaria chided her for her behavior.

“You could get sick, sweetling “ her Aunt said and rubbed her dry, forcing her to sit before the brazier and drink milk with honey. “Why would you sit outside in the rain?”

Sometimes, her Uncle Oberyn allowed half a cup of wine, but Aunt Ellaria was not like her Uncle.

She didn’t want to give her reasons and tried to change the topic.

“Where are Nym and Elia?”

“The stables. Nym’s mare had her babe.”

“Ah, yes,” she recalled suddenly. Elia had been very excited. “I forgot about it.”

“On the morrow is your nameday and you are running with such gloomy face,” Ellaria remarked and sat down beside her, brushing her hand through her dark hair. “Why is that?”

“Uncle Oberyn’s long absences bothers me. What is he doing in Pentos?”

“He wouldn’t tell me.”

This upset her only more.

“Why not? He tells you everything!”

“I think he travelled there on behalf of your Uncle Doran. I am sure we will know more when he returns.”

She had doubts about that and put her empty cup away.

“He won’t tell me. I know it. To keep me safe.”

“That is very possible,” Aunt Ellaria replied and kissed her brow. “The Usurper has spies everywhere. We ought to be careful. To the world you have to be Sarella Sand.”

She nodded her head and embraced her Aunt, the smell of lavender and sandalwood filling her nose.

“I know.”

…

**Author's Note:**

> This was formerly posted as a short story. I am going to expand on this story and thus I am posting it as one.


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